"How are you?", she asks
her eyes gathered upon sincere worry
"Fine," I reply with a tight grit smile mask,
which was unrealistic and lying --
for this I say sorry.

"Are you OK?", as he gazes across my striped red arm,
scabbed with souvenirs from the past;
"Oh, it was my cat," awakening from my drooling daze,
quickly fixing my mismatched clothing,
tugging on my cast.

"What are you writing?", they stare at my laptop,
I tone my music deaf as I turned around to witness a dozen
different eyes locked on my screen as I switched it off,
realisation dawned upon me
that my terrible situation had worsen.

"What are you doing?!", they shout from below,
they stole and gobbled up my happiness like a cannibalistic eater,
"You can't help me, not anymore," I whisper through the willow,
'Take my soul and rip out my heart'
-- to my dearest Grim Reaper.