I cried at Pity—not at Pain—
And I want to know why you must look like-
...like a fragile doll
ready to break at any moment.
Why must you stand there with a smile on your face?
My tears spring forth when I see it…
Part of a shattered mask that has been glued together.
I cry not from pain,
But pity...
I know you,
and This,
This isn’t you.
My tears stain this page,
But not because I empathize -
No, they fall because I feel sorry for you,
Because of all the twisted faces you see...
Theirs...
- and yours.
So why?
I know your pain-
Well, at least OF it.
So let me tell you,
My broken doll,
I hope you find your way back together.