You stare at the world,

with sickly eyes filled with void.

Empty of all that is happy,

rimmed red from tears you didn't cry,

because everything you feel dies,

before reaching your face.

You kill it before it can surface,

before you can feel it,

because it feels better that way.

It is better to feel nothing,

not even joy.

Yet I still wonder why,

that beneath your dying eyes,

lies a smile.

I wonder how someone so hollow,

could look at a world they know to be pointless,

how you stare into inevitability,

into hopelessness,

into a feeling only described as empty,

and pull your lips into some sad redition of a smile.

It's unsettleing.

It's not a pleasnet thing to watch,

it's like a trainwreck with a face, 

and I can't look away from it.

You wear a grin like a grimace,

and it unsettles me.

So I don't look into the mirror much anymore.