I always tell myself, I'm ok, but I'm not. I say I'm happy, but I'm not. I smile, but it's not real. I laugh, but it's forced. I say I'm fine, but my eyes say 'Help.' No one seems to notice I'm dead inside. That all the trees my soul loved, are now dead. The green grass my soul touched, is now brown, and dry. The snow that my soul played in, is now fire. Burning everything within sight. My soul has forgotten all that once lived, it now craves flames, and death. I tell myself that's that ok, but it's not. I miss the green grass, and bright trees.
Yet, every morning I sit in front of my mirror, looking at a different girl. One I despise so much, with tears on my cheeks, I just say, "I'm ok."
