Sick

Matted hair, cruched spine, 

dreary eyes from lack of everything that used to be in them. 

But I suppose you never needed to see that,

because I normally don't notice me either. 

I mean, who needs to?

No one handles my mess better than I do

so what's the difference if I pretend that there was someone who might have cared, 

even just a little. 

The worst part is, 

that I can't blame you.

I get tired of holding my hands through my problems too,

but it's the only way to keep them warm despite the cold brewing from within. 

There's been a lot of that going around, almost like the flu.

You need a little bit of it already inside of you for it to get so much worse,

and you know that it will.

The trick is to be as oblivious as those apathetic to your transparent cause of life. 

Ignore the freezing in your bones while 

your mind becomes sharp so that your heart can finally turn to mush, deflated. 

You can remain sick for a long time

before anyone notices the pale in your used-to-be flushed cheeks. 

You will look as the snow does when it finally adheres to the ground. 

Forgetting what you thought you had for lunch because it was only air anyway. 

Not minding the glares that you give yourself when you realize that you can't quite cope. 

Only being able to smirk sheepishly as people call you perfect, 

wishing they could be just like you.

You don't even want to be anything like you anymore. 

It doesn't take long to put yourself on your back burner when there's no one to be your front. 

But burning would be a nice oasis to the frost that's been building in your silent mouth. 

Appearances seem so nice, but I stopped being able to keep mine up,

if I ever really had one. 

The rusty clock on the wall works a little too well for how it looks. 

Sometimes I wish it hadn't started at all. 

All of these people want to look into my mind as if there's some sort of rare gold within. 

Further than that, since there apparently is some sort of gold, what I plan to do with it.

Surprisingly enough, no one can take that kind of gold from me like the rest. 

The bright shimmering of it in my previously genunine smile that would span miles.

The liveliness beneath everything else.

Who knew pale could be so dark?

Most people have less rare gold than I do,

but they seem to be richer in affection from others that I ever have. 

If I'm supposed to be worth so much, there's a real conspiracy afoot. 

They all mean so well, as they share their happiness about the things that I will never have.

And this is simply because my blood runs a different way, if runs less and slower. 

I would say that I wasn't sick, but there would be too many numbers rooting for the latter. 

And out of deteriorated pride, I would tell you that it is fine to be this type of sick...

But pride doesnt really have purport as you put your gray matter under your shoes does it?

I long for there to be some sort of resolution,

but I've not the slightest inkiling as to where the problem starts and I end. 

Or perhaps I am my own flu.

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.