It has been a long time since I've looked in the mirror and saw something that wasn't in agony or in pain
I looked to see, a man smiling laughing and at peace
I see happiness etched in deceit warmth, and love wrapped in death
There was an old journal I came across. A memory box that was written to my parents. I was asking for help, even though my voice was silent.All I could do was pretend like a doll. But how long till the stitchings and threads fall apart and all the stuffings are scattered about. I sometimes wish I could be happy, but the emotion is only borrowed and the collection agency is calling for it back.