literature

Transition

Deviation Actions

skywolf666's avatar
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Published:
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Literature Text

She covers up the pain with smiles.
Smooths over her scowls with a well-placed joke.
Disguises her tears with a forced laugh.
It's a practised movement,
one so natural that no one can tell it's fake.

The insults fly fast and quick,
and many come from her own mouth.
It can't hurt too much if she makes them true, can it?
But it can.
And it always does.

She laughs along with the one beside her,
and when the insult flies she nods her head.
She grins and adds on another layer of venom,
and the agreement made causes her mask to slip just the tiniest bit.

She knows the routine, and so she fixes the crack in her armour.
The lines are before her and she speaks them without pausing to look down at them.
Inside the turbulent emotions swirl and fester,
and instead she forces them back and slams the lid shut.

She's adopted the mask to the point where it is her face.
The lies are the truths of her nature.
She's squashed down the reality and instead made a new one.
All the while dying inside.

What use is defending oneself from the truth?
The reasoning meant to soothe her pains only adds salt to the wounds.
Logic does not move her stone heart.
It only splinters it.

The smiles are becoming forced.
Her jokes are failing and becoming little more than too-thin bandages.
Her laughs are bitter and painful.
The practised words and actions are splintering.
The "truth" is mixing in with the "lies".

Is this all she is?
The warm words and laughter are becoming harsh and cold.
She cries no tears.
She has too little respect for herself to do that.

She closes her eyes and stuffs away the pain.
The lid is forced hard on the box where she hides the "truth".
The "lies" pile on top to hold it down.
And soon she will forget the box.

Returning to the daily laughter and smiles and jokes.
She numbs herself to the "truths" and "lies".
The world she lives in is bleak and grey.
It's a safer place there without colour.

She practises the lines.
Charismatic.
Outspoken.
Jovial.

The shadow covers the reality.
Robotic.
Masochistic.
Resigned.

The lines travel parallel down the cold pavement.
Standing side by side they move along together.
They never intertwine.
They come close at times, and drift at others.
They never are allowed to mix.

The resignation hallows her eyes.
The robotic responses flee her mouth.
She somehow smiles, almost in anticipation, as she senses a new round about to begin.

She is an actor.
One who wears the face of a clown.
There are no tears to trickle down her face.
Only a sanguine smile.

She bows before those gathered around.
The spotlight fades.
She feels another slice of herself falling away.
She does not stoop to pick it up.
She's lost too much to try to assemble the pieces now.

The smiles are gone now.
She has no jokes to arrest the attentions.
The laughter has ceased into a still silence.
It's no longer a practise but a way of life.
There's nothing left to splinter.

The "truth" is the "lie".
The "reality" is the "imagination".
Her tears are her smiles.
She takes a second bow.

Her audience is waiting.
~ “No! I’m tired of being treated like the village idiot by those who claim they love me.”

Looking back... this describes more than I want to put into words.
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Time: 25 Minutes
Length: 2 Pages, Size 9 Font.
Type: Poetry
Genre: Personal/Introspective
Comments10
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chimera-99's avatar
Ahh, I feel bad 'cause I'm really not sure what to comment. ;; This (and most of your other amazing poetry) has left me speechless. Your word choice is fantastic and just your language in general really stirs my emotions. ♥