A real smile can never be forgotten.
It’s during that moment when weights are lifted.
When scars across bodies are unwritten,
That’s when we realize how we are truly gifted.
But once that moment passes,
We are hidden behind spiked walls,
Shattering upon our repetitive axis
As we sprint through our dungeon's halls—
Isolated by thoughts of suppression,
Itching at our thighs and wrists for relief.
Drowning in endless pools of depression,
Begging for air as we choke on grief.
Trapped running throughout our dungeon
All alone to suffer silently.
Our thoughts locking chains on us so we can’t function,
The words rumbling through our heads so violently—
The day has come for the smile to return,
Faking each moment with a friendly gesture,
Removing any possible concern
As you try staying happy under the pressure.
Over time the feeling of joy is lost,
Remembering it impossible.
Now thinking happiness comes with a cost
Always to be controlled by the inevitable.
Suffocation occurs when we choke on our words,
Struggling with our frequent desires
To fight back inwards and onwards
Of our darkest and deadliest fires.
We don’t completely understand, do we?
It’s about getting happy.
It’s about not having the urge to flee.
It’s about surviving all that is shabby.
It’s about getting happy when the darkness is our only friend,
Trusting the dangers of an never-ending void,
Knowing when the knives fall into unwatched backs, left to defend.
We’re incapable of understanding what’s real when we’re destroyed—
Racing through the maze of our dungeon’s halls,
Being chased and chasing the unknown,
Breaking the barricades until the walls fall,
Banging upon the doors, wishing we’re not alone.
Left alone to suffer by wicked voices,
Craving the sight of crimson.
We forget we have choices
During those desperate times of reason—
No matter the amount we frown.
No matter how many times we pretend.
We must never let anything push us down
Because there is never a dead end.
It’s about getting happy and well,
Defeating the odds people gave us,
Blowing the fires of the inner Hell.
There shouldn’t be any more fuss
It’s about getting happy;
That’s all it’s truly about.
There’s no point to rhyme anymore
Because I know you’ll make.
It Gets Better.
