Happy.

I daydream constantly 

because reality hurts.

I keep my eyes closed

because when I open them

I see everything I'll never achieve.

I keep my head up in space

because there, even in death there is beauty

but down here death is ugly,

as with each passing day.

.

I lock myself in my room

because the world is a horrible place.

I turn off the light-

because even this room shows humanity's true nature

I dare not look back at that mirror,

for even in the faintest of moonlight I can make out

the monster that stands in my place. 

.

I spend each day in misery, because that is how I learned to be happy. 

Happy hurts,

Happy is quick,

Like fleeting love

I hate the feeling

of losing something so quick.

I block it out.

I fill my aching body with unused, dusty tears.

I hear my body groan under the pressure but I do not let it out.

I do not let the misery out,

because then Happy will have a chance to seep through

but with Happy comes horror and sorrow

and other such I cannot bear.

Happy hurts more than this depression ever could,

so I've decided to be nothing but that.

I hold up each day in a wicked,

painful misery,

while others might say it unhealthy

I feel it as nothing but fuel,

nothing but quick snaps of the whip

that keep me going,

just barely alive,

hardly breathing,

stiff like a tin-man

-

I hide from what's real,

I hide from what's happy,

because Misery is the only thing keeping me here.