You see me every day.

Every day you ask, "How's it going?"

And I laugh and joke all day long,

And I tell you, "It couldn't be better."

Can you really not tell

That I'm broken inside

Stifling my sobs

And cries of pain?

To be fair, it's not your fault.

Over time,

Over days, weeks, months

I have designed my own mask

That I wear to the masquerade of life

Every day without fail

Using the fabric of my sorrows and

My misery and my poor, broken heart.

I perform for the audience there

All day, all night,

And all day again,

Shutting out the ache in my body

Because I cannot come to rest.

It's not your fault.

Without ever realizing,

I have perfected myself

In the art of lying

To questions like 'how are you?'

Because they don't really

Want the answer.

I have made my face opaque 

To the inner turmoil.

No, it's not your fault.

I can't go back and that's on me.

Because now I am too afraid,

too tired, too wasted,

to leave that masquerade ball 

and go home.