I know you’re happy by the way you smile
But every night when you think I’m asleep I can hear you sobbing quietly behind a locked bathroom door, telling me you’re “exhausted from work” or you’re on your “time of the month”, and you’ll “be out soon” so I should just “go to bed”

I know you’re happy by the way you smile
But when I look through old photos of you, your eyes used to smile too; now they seem to look at walls, out windows, at ceilings, and floors, as if you’re trying to find a way to escape. You don’t look frightened, but you do look lost, because walls and windows and ceilings and floors have nothing for you.

I know you’re happy by the way you smile
But I haven't seen it since.