You think that everyone has problems
Yes
We all do

It need not be family problems
It could be friendship problems
Schoolwork problems

Everyone goes through that face
It is depressing
But
we just have to embrace this storm and walk through it

You tell that to me
So i pretend that i have no problems to
I guess good thing is that you're not here
Yet

I've learnt my lesson
When you are too open to your friends
Especially those you are close to
One day you think they are here for you
You really never know when the next moment will come
When they start mocking at your back

They try to do it discreetly
But
I've been mocked at
enough times
To know from your expressions
Who you are talking about
What you are saying

I might not know exactly what
But i know that
You treat me as a good friend
IS DEFINITELY NOT TRUE

And i just have to say that's the cruel fact of life

GOOD FRIENDS*
They are the ones
You think
You can rely on when you're in your darkest moments

Truth be said
I probably do have Good Friends
But these aren't the friends who are true to each other

Good Friends
to me
are just playing The Lying Game

Good Friends
Are what you call them
and what they call you

But deep down
they
don't really treat you as one

You think that you can confide in them
Yes you do
But when you probe any further
They also move further, and further

You try to show concern
Yet they brush you away

You try to ask more
Yet all they say "Nothing everything's alright"

I cry
everyday
Silently

I don't write great poems
I don't write good poems
I try to keep my identity a secret
So that i can show my true emotions

I just need a place
to show my true emotions
and this is the place
and my Good Friend's ears
i've realised
is not this place


I'm sorry

No one knows the horrible thoughts within my head,
I grow tired of faking normal.
I look into the mirror and hate who is staring back.

The daymares are worse than the nightmares because they come without warning.
It is hard to fake normal when the daymares come and tears stream and the shaking begins.
I run for a place to close a door and lock it.
Lock out the world and grab my hair and pull and pull so hard that I try to pull the scenes out of my head.

I see them over and over every day. I hear the sounds. I lose my breath when the triggers come.
I tell my doctor that I am tired of faking normal.
I ask for medicine that will make me feel numb.

He asks me, "When was the last time you were happy?"
I pause, I think. I don't  remember.
My family doesn't understand so I have to fake normal.
I tell him I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Do something.
He says. I want you to seek counseling.
NO. It doesn't work.
Please.
NO. Just give me something so I won't think anymore.

I know that this PTSD is winning. Faking normal is coming to an end.
My doctor looks at me for the first time with the saddest eyes and says, "I'm worried about you."
I think to myself, You should be.

I shine
A little light
Within the palms of my hand

It just gets darker
and darker
the little light
losing its light
With every futile effort,
a more disastrous outcome

It's getting
darker and darker
A little by little
The light spills out
from within the palms of my hand
trying to catch it

It gets darker.


It's black now.
No more light
within the palms of my hand.