two words covering the fact that everything inside is falling apart
the bags under his eyes, the shaking that never seems to stop, the words coming out as nothing more than a whisper that everyone else associates as his normal tone
all indications of the lies those two words hold.
but nobody ever asks more.
they take the words at face value, turning things into something new to avoid any further communication
drowning him in his own thoughts, screaming on the inside while his facade protects the exterior
every day the bottles stacking up, his "friends" seeing him as the one they can go to for fun
but this isn't fun to him, it is his way of escape.
hiding it behind a party attitude, always pulling people together to have a good time while internally he is a shattered mirror reflecting all the wrongs of his past, the people he's let down, the people he's hurt.
but how can he be alone when surrounded by people?
that question lingers for an eternity, an answer never to come
but even with his closest friends, the burning in his throat as he swallows another shot, the only thing he can feel.
the laughter of his peers from the jokes he makes, the only thing keeping him from drowning. but even with all the voices, connections, and presences of these friends
he feels helpless.
the switch in his mind teetering on the edge of bliss and insanity, the demons ravaging the innermost workings of his brain
the sunshine nothing more than a firework, bringing color and joy for seconds until it fades dragging him back to the solemn darkness that swallows him whole.
but nobody knows.
how can he explain what goes on in his mind when he doesn't even know himself?
the constantly refreshing images in his head thrusting desires uncontrollable.
self sabatoge his new found obsession, what is the point in finding something to make him happy when in the end it all gathers into a larger basin of agonizing solitude.
driven by fear and hatred, a much more sinister provocation than the image he portrays to others. constantly fighting a war within himself
knowing there is never a winner in war, only heartbreak and travesty.
one day everything will be a memory, or more specifically in memory.
the idea of suicide just a house of cards waiting to be built and toppled by one strong strong gust of wind, or one wrong move.
and he is prepared, for years he has resolved himself in solace knowing the end will come.
never having been afraid of death, more so welcoming it as if it was a friend he once knew, re-connecting as if it was nothing more than grabbing a coffee and catching up.
eagerly awaiting that reunion growing more and more impatient.
but still his facade never falters, never allowing that mask to drop to release the true feelings pent up, begging for release. those words i'm fine, a double edged sword. placating the curious minds, while slicing away at the fabric in his mind keeping him stable.
one i'm fine at a time, tearing him apart from the inside
until the last string is cut that holds him together
until that house is built
and that gust finally brings him home.