people will always see the facade.
just the pretty face, they shall recognize.
the mask, right upon this opaqueness i have beneath.
no one will never know the cries between midnights,
along with every teardrop
shed on this very shaky ground
no one will ever know
that has awaited
longing to surface
out of this very skin
who they call prison
which i could never fathom
they will always see a pretty face
shall they never know the insides
not much goes on inside my head anymore.
In my house of sadness, may I invite you in?
pain is inevitable. suffering, is optional.
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