My mask is my weapon, my overall defense.
But the people who look, what do they sense?
My happy facade of a girl that cares, hiding a girl that fears.
Do they see that I think this is unfair?
That this phony game I'm playing is getting hard to bare?
I fear myself; my mental health.
The ice around my heart is giving my soul a cold.
This is getting old.
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Awake
One of my short stories.
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