"I don't think anyone really understands how tiring it is to act okay... "
These are a few word that a friend of mine had to say.
She had said it unbeknown,
she had a friend in kindred torment, a friend of her own.
He struggled with this pain,
Because this pain, it put me in agony and drives me insane,
This pain follows me,
It is the shadow within my melancholy heart.
She goes on to say how it is tiring to always seem strong.
I handle my pain every day.
I've hardly ever felt like I belong.
So the facade of strength,
That isn't tiring.
But the desire to belong,
It is bent, Broken and hell sent.
The constant chase of validation,
The rejected devoured by devastation.
The never ending marathon,
The race to find your home and build a bond,
Being met with disappointment at every corner,
Or by being the disappointment to your home once you've found her,
and making her sad as you bore her.
I shall never grow tired of her,
But I'm already exhausted of my self.
I bring the mistakes,
Or I misjudge and become them.
She finally ends her story,
The story the spoken to her heart,
"When in reality you're close to the edge"
But my edge is crumbling apart.
Shifting tides beneath my feet.
A disastrous feat of my flesh and meat;
The lust of happiness, and the greed of joy,
The gluttony of laughter, and the envy of satisfaction,
The pride within friendship, and the sloth with expectations.
My soul, it yurns for a sliver of any,
Instead corrupted, by a wrath, so deadly.
The wrath that seeks belonging, that finds resentment.
The one who's willing to change who I am to conform to whom I'm not.
Though I've had friend that tease me, "You don't know me" And "You don't understand me"
The truth is, the struggle
This is where you make me wear my mask,
Because my pain eats me from the inside to an empty husk.
You don't know me.
My fears or the future that I long for.
You barely know the past,
Only the memories in which you may haunt,
Only by rumors you hear by mouth,
One that flaunts of truth just as water running from a dry, barren well.
I can barely remember,
An empty memory, once held a past so tender.
My unexplainable condition,
My lack of skill to call to mind,
As I can find where I belong before I can find the song,
The melody that reminds me of whats gone,
A lullaby to prompt a cue to my old life, dead and buried.
Though you may not see my pain, but I live with it,
Unable to recall how long, but I feel so wrong without it.
It has branded upon my spirit, my body it's vessel.
The four horsemens chariot.
Candour be spread,
You do not know me,
Candour be told,
I do not know my self.
My identity is hidden,
It is locked in my chasmic ravine of despair.
To speak of your pain,
That is fine.
To assume anything of mine,
That is unfair.
