Are my tears forced or real?
Are my emotions truly what I feel?
Or do I just stand and wait?
As if to say my heart will take any plain, old bait
As if the only happiness I will ever see is that of others,
The ones with a happy mom and dad, a sister and of cause those annoying brothers.

The ones who haven’t felt this level of pain,
Maybe the kind that the earth feels when hit by the rain,
But not the kind to make a notebook and pen become a best friend.
Not the kind to make solitude the only thing you’d defend.

No, not the kind to make you feel lonely in a crowded room.
Not the kind to take your reason to life away with a great, big boom.

I envy those that have what I do not,
I hate those that can love what I can not,
I miss those that left me behind…
I wish those memories wouldn’t haunt my mind.

The memories of walking into my first stage of hell,
Tears that could overflow a bottomless well,
Screams of help that could make a deaf person cringe
And teardrops so acidic they could cause my skin to singe

All apart what I am, both strong and weak.
Parts of the past that will always cause a tear to roll down my cheek

And you ask if I’m doing well?
If you must know.. I’m in my second stage of hell.
Seven more to go from here
I’ll let you know if I ever get back to where my heart is near.

- E. A. F