Monday, September 28, 2009


sick. you make me sick. your charade is too much. the drama, the madness that you cried against so pitifully...apparently, you need it to survive. you love to put on the smiles. the sick, sanguine smiles of affection. and the mania underneath? you love that too. you love it so much that you will never address your previous lull in delusion. the admittance of your pretense, the brief period when you finally awoke and realized how desperately you need to snap out of all this--fast. no, you will not dare do so. you will continue to act out your favorite scenes--the ones of sick happiness, sick love. And I'll play along, sure...

but don't think I don't know what's underneath.

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