I need help but refuse to ask.

I'm the tough one. God built me to last.

No one can know how I truly feel inside.

My endless nights of crying.

My thoughts of wanting to die.

If you saw me, you would think I'm totally fine.

I'm a professional at clothing myself in garments of beauty, strength and playing the role of someone in complete control.

But at night when I'm alone my weaknesses, pain and flaws take hold.

Eventually I will succumb to my own demons.

By either a knife to my wrist or a gun to my head.

Mentally I'm already dead.

God if you can hear me please come to my aid.

I'm exhausted from pretending.

I need to be saved.