To you.
The one who tries to blend in with the shadows,
Hoping no one notices them.
The one who doesn't care too little,
But instead cares too much.
The one holding the mask,
Never being able to put it down.
The one smiling,
Just to make sure the tears can't leave.
This is to you.
The one reading this.
You.
This isn't the end.
There will always be a way out,
A safe haven.
There is hope.
You can live a day without that mask.
You will.
This is to you.
The one who can.
And the one who will.
-L.N.L
YOU ARE READING
Rigor Samsa
Poetry"n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time-and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated...
