They say those with depression are the best actors.

My dark, twisted mind, filled with deep thoughts of how I will never be good enough for anyone not even myself, will never show the real world how I feel.

My smile. My coffee-stained-semi-white teeth will shine in the light, as you ask me how I am doing and I will always answer with amazing.

You look at me with your sparkling eyes and say great. Great as if you believe everything I say is true. Great as if the sun shines brightly through the dark overcast clouds into my room, onto my bed, onto my face that is as pale as the walls that enclose my cries in.

I ask you how you are, and you smile back at me and say wonderful. and I truly wonder if you are. or are you just another actor making their way to their bed where they can lay thoughtless with the hovering feeling of overwhelming dread.

Or maybe, maybe for just once you are genuine.