When you feel your gut twist in a painful symphony of sadness, and your throat feels so dry that it hurts, and your eyes burn in unenviable disgust of your emotional fragility, and your vision is clouded where your body threatens to expose your inevitable failure to everyone that holds some kind of misguided regard to you as a friend. When you feel your face twisting in the agony of finally acknowledging defeat, but you hear the familiar greeting of a helpful passer-by and you tell your body that you're okay and that it needs to get it's **** together and to actually do something useful for once.
You still burn inside, that writhing fever tormenting your torso. You know that you're red in the face with restraint and your fists are balled with outrageous embarrassment - but you have no tears...
where did they go?
Are they still lurking in the corner of your eyes, waiting for you to mess up again - to let down your guard again - and ambush your heart, already preparing to wreck your body with sobs. Are they waiting for your darkest day to pounce, washing your mind with sadness and forcing you to your knees, weak, cowardly, begging for the forgiveness of whatever sin has caused this living hell. Or, are they going to attack softly, silently, seeping through your skin like death coloured mist in the nightmarish agony of what society calls despair.