The expression of pain, comes in many forms; what right do you have, to suggest a norm.
The sign that you see, is all that comes out; there’s a war raging inside, filled with Demons of doubt.
The tears on my face, are easiest to see; they boil in Hell, from a depth within me.
I try to escape, the emotions that come; but you can never be free, when you don’t know where they’re from.
An aching inside, that you can’t conceive; the Death Dealer is here, and he won’t let me leave.
You try to be smug, as you tell me your cure; you would choke on despair, if your pain was this pure.
You see that there’s signs, but you turn a blind eye; you sit there and judge, and think you know why.
The scars on my body, are an expression of will; I took all the beatings, and kept quiet and still.
I try to be cool, and wear a thick mask; I don’t know what to say, and don’t want you to ask.
There’s no way to explain, or give you a peek; a day in your life, takes me a week.
I try to be strong, and not feel like a waste; but your memories of me, would be best served erased.
A consumption of fire, that erupts from this pit; is a blank stare of pain, as I roast on this spit.
The chills that you see, that crawl up my spine; are the slayers of hope, come to drink me like wine.
I say that I’m fine, to make you feel better; you take it and run, and ignore my last letter.
The person you see, has become undone; I’ve been trapped in the darkness, with no light from the sun.
A limit we have, before we will break; but what do you do, when Death just won’t take.
So you say that you know, and that you’ve been there; but your emotions so cold, it puts a chill in the air.
My expressions of pain, are buried down deep; fighting the fiends, for my eternal sleep.
Emotional blindness, is the illness you spread; it seeps in my pores, and fills me with dread.
I shake and I twitch, from the poison inside; which one do you see, my Jekyll or Hyde.
So I sit here and smile, and put on a good show; for this person you see, you really don’t know.
By Ron Lee