If you could hear that voice the way I do
For just a week,
For just a day,
For just an hour,
Or even just a passing whisper in the night.

If you could hear the things I do,
You would understand my shattered-glass smile,
Why I see no light in my own reflection,
How focused I am on how insincere I smile.
Even when I smile so genuine, I'm unconvinced.

If you could hear the things I do,
Maybe you would hear that screech,
That accompanies my laugh in moments of joy.
Maybe you would hear my own mind
Shouting me back down into that grey dull.

If you could hear that voice the way I do,
Never silent for a moment,
Forcing me into a docile silence,
If you could just hear the screaming in my head,
You would understand why I'm always on the edge of collapse.

If you could hear that voice the way I do,
You would be stunned into silence.
You would be repulsed by your own reflection.
You could never let go of that last nagging thought.
You would hate yourself as deeply as I hate me.