The marks are there
The scars are made
Nothing is fair
And nothing is of equal trade
The blood is now dried
The damage is done
No more tears to be cried
Nothing is ever fun
The darkness is under control
The depression is beginning to fade
No light is enrolled
In this day that is made
No more sweet hellos
No more harsh good byes
I can't handle the pain
That you can't see in my eyes
So good bye...
I'm not going to die
I'm not going to disappear
But I need to win this fight
While my poisson begins to disappear
YOU ARE READING
Do you even know?
PoetryDoes anyone know the feeling that no one knows you? That you always put on such a good act that people can never tell if you are okay or not?
