What right have I, to sit and smile,
Whilst my stomach churns acid bile.
What right have I, to laugh with glee,
I can fool them, but I can't fool me.
What right have I, to slumber sweet upon my harsh, empty bed.
A picture of peace, asleep, whilst demons go to war in my head.
What right have I, to wake up with a song on my lips,
Whilst glimmers of sweat appear on my fingertips.
Sweat that emerges under times of great burden,
The longer I pretend, the more my insides harden.
I tire of trying hard to fit in...please people...please myself.
I watch my body, shell, doing these things, but my soul's on a shelf.
I continue to grow outside, but not within.
They say that lying to yourself...is a dreadful sin.
My heart has many sorrows, of which it hurts to speak.
The guilt I carry round with me is evident, it reeks.
Nobody seems to understand the message I portray,
when I bow my head and mumble - every single day.
It is because I am frightened by the enormous stress of it all,
I can rise up like everyone else - only to swiftly encounter a sharp fall.
If the day should come when I finally break free of the chains around my soul,
I will know that I have succeeded - in reaching my life's goal.
I will wait longingly for that feeling to smother me with its sticky embrace,
Until then, my true self...I simply cannot face.
I will live my lie until the time comes to pass.
When people will accept me - I'll learn to live at last.