Rogue

Maybe I'm really good at putting on these masks,
Bottling up the little tasks,
The small things that work like a timed explosion,
Like falling in love...or that silly notion.

How it trickles down, like a pill through the throat,
So quickly elated, feeling afloat,
Like nothing can stop something so grand,
Yet slipping through your hand.

As though your grip wasn't as strong,
As though it was you who was in the wrong,
For not holding on tight enough,
For giving in when things got rough.

And still my silence will keep,
Without a tear or single weep,
A silence that breaks on through,
A silence that you never knew.

Since it's all behind the mask,
Behind the bottled, little tasks,
The small things that work their way,
And ruin any given day.

But still forced smiles stay abound,
Regardless of the treacherous sound,
Of quiet cries screaming about,
Something bursting...from the inside out.

Quieter and silent still,
As poisoned thoughts continue to fill,
The vial that coats the blades,
Running through different shades.

And with just a simple cut,
An entire world will shut,
Down, collapse, on what was once so stable,
Leaving me no longer able...

To hide behind these trembling masks,
Shrieking in silence as the tasks,
Bottle up and pile still,
Shattering my very will.

Author's Note

Always open to reviews!

Reviews

[Norah]

Well you have definitely caught my attention. I love your writing style and the way it seems so natural, rather than forced like some writing can be. I look forward to reading more of this soon!