To be the broken one,
To be the defective soul;
The privilege is mine.

Incapable of socializing,
Of making empty conversation,
Of feigning appropriate feelings.

"Come back inside,
Why have you left the party?"

You try to smile,
But never quite good enough.
Never quite believable enough.

"They can tell," You think.
Except they can't.

Your time is wasted
Becoming what good people think you should be.
Saying what good people expect you to say.
Hiding your sickness away.

"Come have another drink."

The cold, glass bottle
Presses against my colder hands,
And suddenly the world is warmer.