Those Things You Call A Poem

Whispers of Concealed Agony

In the shadow of a smile, a hollow facade,
Imitating joy, with eyes so sad.
Laughter forced, to hide the ache so raw,
Numbness grips, within its icy claw.

Is it truly amusing, this charade we play?
Concealing the anguish, day after day.
Adjusting expressions, in the silent fray,
Pretending normalcy, in disarray.

Alone in the struggle, with sanity at stake,
Fighting to maintain, for humanity's sake.
But cracks appear, in the mask we make,
Shattered illusions, no solace to partake.

In the echo of laughter, lies a silent plea,
Someone, anyone, to truly see.
Struggling to be happy, but never free,
From the depths of despair, I cannot flee.

So here I am, confessing the lie,
Unable to feign, unable to try.
For happiness eludes, as tears run dry,
In the darkness, where I silently cry.

I'm sorry, I whisper, for not being bright,
For failing to shine, in the darkest night.
But the weight is heavy, and the burden tight,
Forgive me, for I cannot be happy.