Don’t talk to me right now, I’m in mourning. Mourning a friend, a lover, a stillborn child. I am mourning an ideal, a hope. I killed the one part of my soul worth saving so that I could put on a mask and play the part you gave me. I will be your marionett just to stay close. I would never tell you the pains I go through to keep you comfortable. Indeed, it would devistate you; not because of your simpathy, but because I am working myself to death, begging for a glass of water and all you will ever be able to give me is bread. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. When I see you next I’ll put on my smile. Just forgive me if its a sad one.
Dancing like a marionett