You don't hear
the shrill screams
inside my head,
or hear the broken music
box I haven't set aside.
You don't see the shadows
flit pass my walls,
or bear the pinch of
broken dreams under your feet.

You only know of the colors
I wear on my sleeve,
and the aches I confess
of the things that keep me
from sleep.

You only tell me
what I must, should and can,
without knowing the doors
I pray will remain closed behind.

You only see the smoked mirrors
I show you, because some
truths are kept from you,
And I'm kept distant,
from you.