Tired Eyes for a Dying Boy
As I am waiting for my eyes to close, I lay here thinking and refreshing my Instagram feed hoping to see new photos from my friends. They all look happy as I scroll through them. My friends are happy. People that I care about are happy. And yet, I'm not. Instead, I am filled with jealousy because my friends are happy. Why can't I be happy too? I wait for the day that I will awake and be happy.
Maybe my friends aren't happy and instead, they are putting on a fake smile for the photo. Some of the photos aren't even them. They are just inanimate objects, but the way the inanimate object is portrayed, it is happy. Each of my friends is an artist and maybe by them having a fake smile and perfectly portrayed inanimate objects is just a facade. Inside, they could be having a civil war. Both sides are wanting to take control of the body and in the beginning, they fought for one side, but now, they would compromise just to feel again.
Perhaps the photos uploaded are to show themselves as lively people to make a facade for others to enjoy. They may have accepted that everyone else is just as damaged and therefore they take it upon themselves to try to put a little bit of happiness back into the world. Perhaps I have a facade too. My family tells me that I used to be a happy and energetic child; however, I am not the polar opposite. So, I question, what happened? Where has my facade gone? Has someone murdered my facade, thus making it impossible for me to feel happiness again?
I am nothing more than a beaten down man, wishing for his time to run out and every day that it doesn't I gain a bit of urge to speed it up myself. Facade, come back to me before my urge engulfs all others and I become no more.
Facade, don't drug me to just numb the pain. There is no point to numbing the pain because it will never heal. I will always feel the pain.