When I was younger,
I was taught that smiles express bliss.
Then why, I wonder,
Does her smile remind me of the abyss?
For as long as I can remember,
I longed to be the reason behind every smile.
To go as far as signing a deal to become a member.
A member of my own funeral.
But then I met her.
Her smile was a mask,
never was she content nor dejected.
And everytime I asked,
Her forged emotions appeared like a phoenix, resurrected.
Her morality was corrupted by society,
she couldn’t decipher right from wrong.
Every interaction was driven by anxiety,
If only she could learn how to “belong.”
She would explain to me that merriment is enforced,
She was obsessed with suppressing her true self.
A murderer’s sin is not forced.
People only wrong others when they feel hurt.
Lying to herself for others’ delight,
How would one not be despondent?
Slowly, a black hole darker than midnight,
Sucked the vitality out of her.
Still, she would smile like nothing was erroneous.
Her smile became a fatal weapon.
She guarded her tears to avoid becoming felonious.
When did it become a crime to cry?
She secretly wanted to break her mask,
but she was constantly marked as “weak.”
Her catchphrase was “I’m okay,”
I was not okay.
She lied.
Phoenixes are not real, and society is not to blame.
I lied.
How could a killer have a funeral?
She wanted to break her walls.
Only, they were cement, and had already hardened.
She wanted to break her chains.
She had imagined those chains.
I wish she would have trusted me,
before time ran out.
I never set her free.
. . . she was me.
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