Melting mechanically into nothingness, hiding behind my own imperfections.
Fading inside, no one notices, no one notices.
It's ok though I’ll be ok, I always make it through.

Channelling pain to make my own pains disappear; looking down at my open palms wine red crescent moons passing across my vision.
I look up; It's my secret.
Closing my fist; exposing my broken nails.

A way of coping?
Or a way of avoiding?

Having to scream having to cry.
In my blurred vision, I look up, but there's no one nothing just white.
There's no one, I need someone, there's no one.

They say their there for me. They say their here.
But when I say, they say I talk too much.
When I don’t they ask what’s wrong.
A continuous circle.

Never ending?
Or never beginning?