Am I really suffering?
Or am I playing the role of
A guilty pleasure!
Painting fake scars on my wrists,
To prove to myself that my life was true lived.
I can't be a coward, hiding from my purpose;
So I sculpt up vicious sins and fight them to strengthen my excuse.
Will I ever know the truth?
Why haven't I ever learned to speak out my raw words
To people who matter.
My head is my whole world for now,
And it's not a happy place.
I have to get out but how
I do not know.
Maybe I do,
But I'm just so used to the darkness
And afraid of the outside
So I close the doors and pretend the key has melted.
Or is it really lost?
It's truly a suffering.
But am I really suffering?
Or am I playing the role?
© 2020 notaguise