It’s one of those days again, accompanied by a dull ache,
Where even walking, even rising from bed, feels like a task.
My eyes stare blankly at the walls — life is wuthering,
But I make it a point to wear a mask.

This mask tries to obscure the pain within,
But we all know it’s a sham — the ones who matter can see it all.
They try to cheer me, say, “Get busy,”
But how to explain? Busyness cannot solve it at all.