By Emma Taub
With all my trials in so short a life,
I am aged far beyond my years,
My brain, stricken with what seems everlasting strife,
My pillow, constantly damp with tears.
Beneath this mask I wear, there is almost nothing left of me,
But an empty, aching heart,
And a tender, raw, inner psyche.
Those who I thought cared for me,
Quickly turned away,
The once gleesome happiness within me,
Instantly poisoned and dismayed.
Although all joy in the world is escaping,
And I fear the worst is around the bend,
I have a small hope that this hell imbedded in me,
Will finally be put to an end.
So, onward, I march.
Onward in this endless sea of artificial laughing grins,
While they tease me,
Poking and pecking at me,
I wait for my last spark of hope,
To, at long last, come out, and save me,
From this cavalry.
But, alas, I am pulled into this parade,
This Mardi Gras of fake ecstasy,
Plastered with this painful smile,
With these inner demons inside of me.
When I lay my head to rest, at last,
Hopeful of some long-needed peace,
That’s when the real terror begins,
As whispers of demons fill my ears,
And every nightmare I’ve ever witnessed, suddenly released.
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