It's sad.
People think I'm doing better,
But I've only gotten better at masking the pain,
And I wish that it would all wash away with the rain...
But it's California,
It never rains,
So I carry this ache like the heavy weight,
Of a dead man,
Disguising my brokenness with a smile,
Try to hold it just a little while,
Long enough to run to the bathroom,
Run the shower,
So I can finally release the distress of holding it all in,
All my glued together pieces of my broken soul,
And I sit in here let the hot water scorch my crooked spine,
As I sit here and cry,
On the bathtub floor and the bathroom floor,
As I nod my head and beat my brain and subtly let out muffled screams,
It's sad,
It stings and Burns and hurts,
I rather be tortured and bruised,
Then I compose myself,
Cover up the decay,
And take a deep breath,
Prepare myself and step back out like I didn't just break down,
But no one knows about it.