If Words Could Portray

The End of Me

Do people actually like me?
Or are they just kind to me?
Do they really accept me with my flaws?
Or am I just there to help them sharpen their claws?
The questions linger in my mind like a storm,
they always open the dams holding the water warm.
I know my flaws are more than others,
maybe I'm a defect piece born to wither.
I can never trust the sweet words of a lover,
But I'll cry and die over the blames of a stranger.
I try my best to not be a trouble,
but I just can't help how I need someone in my bubble.
The wailings of my heart are just for me to hear,
for I can't let someone know about my heart's hurtful tear.
I'll smile and hope they think I'm full of glee,
and quietly crawl to the corner when I reach the end of me.