I like to watch them,
as they fold gently,
Into newly found realms,
Of softened happiness.
Scents of lavender,
and milkweed,
Blaming their aches,
Until they fade away.

I am selfish enough,
To seek comfort in them,
I am selfish enough,
To pretend I am part of them.

Part of this ever growing bubble,
That is verging on delirium.

But I am not,
I know I am not.
This I hope,
Will be unnoticed.

It's easy to mimic,
Or fake your behaviour,
If the outline of what,
You hope to achieve,
is merely,
A heartbeat away from you,

It's easy to colour,
between the lines,
Even if my pencil,
is shaded melancholy blue.

that voice in your head is deceiving,
it wants you to think it's your best friend,
but it's your worst enemy.

it wants you to think it wants the best for you,
to help you,
but that voice in your head,
it wants to see you dead.

*n.l.b