I am but broken pieces,
held together by a thin thread.
I am but a mess,
'ripped apart' they said.

A smile masked upon my face,
as I tear in the inside.
Laughter as my shield,
though I know I cried.

I'm an artwork of spirals,
let alone a thin line.
I'm the black sheep that says,
"I'm fine, I'm really fine."

I guess I'm this fallen star,
that shouldn't be here.
So I'll drift back again to slumber,
where my thoughts finally clear.