You both think I'm happy.
You both think I've moved on.

You're wrong.

The graft on my face has sunken in
      and merged with me
The falsity, the lie
      is permanent now
But it doesn't change who I am.
What I am.
I'm angry.
I'm hurt.

But my anger has no focus,
no target.
Nothing to aim my finger at
and cast away in shame
There's nothing to blame
And too many people at fault
We're all at fault

You see me smiling
You see me laughing
My carefree attitude surrounding me
You'd never guess.
Yes, it's me,
But it's the part of me that I've fabricated
The part that I've constructed to appear this way
I've had so much time to sit at wait
To cry and sob
To tear myself up
That I've formed something.
It's terrible.
It's ugly.
But it's me, now.

The laughter I offer
The joviality
In order to form it
I have to touch what I've become
The laughter you feel, caused by me
The inevitable smile I tend to bring to your face
Would you like to know where that comes from?
It comes from inside of me,
a fragment of myself
that I've chipped away
and handed to you
like a gift.

You have no idea.

"It will take a long time for this to heal,"
      you've said
You truly have no idea.
You speak of being stuck in the middle
and how bad it is to be forced to choose
You already have chosen.
Your argument holds no merit,
because you have what I do not.

You have someone to hold,
Someone to touch.
You have someone to speak to,
More than words.
You can do all the stupid little nothings
That mean everything.
You have it all.
And I don't.

This was hard on you.
It's still hard on me.
I am the ultimate loser.
You suffered, but you overcame.
You found an up amidst the downs.
Each time I reached for one,
It was pulled away, and I fell
Would you like to know what I fell on?
More of the downs,
that eased my fall with the sickly warmth
of disgusting acceptance.

I'm speechless.
I've actually found a part of my life that I hate.
I've never had that before.
I've never wanted that before.
It's mine,
To treasure and kill myself with
Ah. Suicide.
Does that frighten you?
Does the statement, the thought?
Have I really been pushed that close to the edge?
I undoubtably have, but never the less . . .

Albeit, it is only a part of my life.
But when I've dedicated so much time and focus
To something such as this
And then it's corrupted, desecrated
It becomes more.

Would you like to know?
No.
You don't really want to, but you feel obligated to ask,
Don't you?

I think I'd like to know,
But the fact of the matter is
that even I do not.