With every throwback of my head I felt the artificial happiness circulating
The smiles that were etched on my face
The laughs that were played on a machine instead of my lips
Those dull eyes must've been a tell tale
Yet
No one noticed those eyes lacking sparkle
No one noticed when those smiles became small then extremely large as if by magic
No one noticed when those laughs became plastic
But
Then again
No one noticed
When those smiles became real
When those laughs became songs
When those eyes started to twinkle

It must be nice to be a cloud; to get so full of what surrounds: all evaporates. It has no say, but then, when full, it relieves the pain. Rain pours down for what can seem, at times, to be eternity. Though it's dark, soon comes light, and the world is full of life.
To be a cloud would be a dream; instead I'm trapped inside of me. Like a cloud, I soak up pain. Overwhelmed, I wait for rain. It grows and grows until it hurts. Still in drought, I wish to burst. Skies turn dark, yet try as I may, my eyes refuse to precipitate. Alas--they do; storms pour down until my heels can't feel the ground. Overpouring flood waters rise; I'm drowning fast in my cries. At last, it stops; I look around--no life has grown upon the ground; instead what's left are puddles of strife to evaporate again into my life.