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Hollow Friends With Hollow Faces.

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I am an empath which means I can "feel" others emotions and feelings as well as put into words things others would find hard to understand.

hollow-friends-with-hollow-faces

Red. Faceless.

Trying to be nice to someone,
doesn't really matter,
they throw your sympathy on the floor,
then your humanity begins to shatter.
Having kind words to say,
seems the civilized thing to do,
but it's like trying to open a door,
when they just won't let you through.
Empathy is only natural,
when similar states exist,
you offer your services,
but the opportunity is missed.
We're all angels with one wing,
we need each other to fly,
it's just music when you refuse to sing,
like it's pointless when you refuse to try.
Offered services seem to stink,
it's suspicious when offered for nothing,
is there an ulterior motive you think,
or you wonder if they're bluffing.
You lay your heart upon the line,
and seek to offer advice,
but the recipient just wants to whine,
while your heart they gladly slice.
You try your best to be a friend,
and offer your loyal hand,
but the beginning seems to be the end,
the reason why you don't understand.
Being nice just is not cool,
when it's thrown back in your face,
it makes you seem like a fool,
and your hope and trust misplaced.
Some people don't know when they're better off,
when a hand stretches out of the blue,
they sneer and just want to scoff,
then turn their back on you.
So why should I be a giver,
when all the world just takes,
the thought just makes me shiver,
at their obvious mistakes.
The world around me is disgusting,
it hides beneath the glamour and glitz,
strangers pretend to be so trusting,
while they rip your soul to bits.
We all like to gaze on the positive,
and ignore the truth which throbs,
it's so much easier to take than give,
while the dream in your eye slowly robs.
People just like to stand and stare,
while the unfortunates slump on the ground,
with their eyes closed pretend not to care,
just walk away before they are found.
Are we brorhers or strangers of humanity,
we exist in circles of our own,
laugh at others unfortunate insanity,
and ignore the tears from their eyes as they groan.
Can I play with others sadness,
then pretend it's just a funny game,
while all around me is utter madness,
the twisted smiles of the lost and insane.
I see your game underhanded slur,
it's a shame others are so cruel,
false smile on your face pretend to care,
you treat others like yourself co's your a fool.
I will seek no more,
Because its not there to be found,
Trying becomes such a chore,
My head in the clouds my feet on the ground.
When I look I fail to see,
My eyes become misty with pain,
The world is the same but different to me,
While the inglorious hide in their shame,
I watch the stars race across the sky,
And the clouds deposit their morning dew,
It becomes monotonous always having to try,
Pretending every day is brand new,
It seems like your fading toward another notion,
Your mind just likes to play tricks,
It's like when your floating upon the ocean,
And your grasp upon reality slips.
Don't look at me your sorrowful gaze torments,
The truth in your eye the spit on your tongue,
Your actions betray what your feelings resents,
And the journey you take turns out wrong.
You look as though you know me,
But I know that just is a lie,
That look in your eye isn't all that I see,
When you so purposely walk by.
I've been there watching you stumble,
I've caught you when you've fell down,
Your not the only one who might just tumble,
Like when it's me I just look like a clown.
So don't act like your a loyal friend,
And about me to other's you talk,
When I am someone whom you can depend,
But when it's me your likely to just walk.
I see you play your silly games,
Everything seems so pretence,
Those who are pure in heart you just call names,
Behind their backs you just resents.
Why do you pretend not to notice me,
All I want is to see you just smile,
Is it because I could never expect to be,
Someone you'd notice just for a while.
A good heart is hard to find,
Yet selfish hearts heart's outnumber the few,
It's like broken promises are so unkind,
Even when they were made might have been true.

© 2019 Mark

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