Facade

Mask. 

She lives in a mask.

A fake face, painted with the expression of happiness.

Her soul crumbles beneath the mask. 

The only thing keeping her upright is her spine.

And yet, she falls. 

She falls to get picked up.

Her eyes scream messages that only inspire a whisper in the mind of the one looking in.

She can't cry.

To cry is to be weak. Feminine. 

No longer can her brain handle the thoughts.

"Why haven't you seen the scars?"

"Have you not heard me screaming at night?"

"Do you not see that I can't fight this for much longer?"

Her body is giving up.

Immune system weak.

Hospital.

"Do you ever have thoughts of taking your own life?"

She lies. 

Military doctors are not to be trusted. 

Zoloft.

She feels the same as before.

She stops taking the medication. 

Looks in the mirror. 

The reminant of a once permanent smile catches the corner of her mouth.

"I have. I can. I will." she says to her reflection.

Hope has come again. 

*Disclaimer*

No, I am not suicidal. I was at one point, hopsitalized and all that junk. I'm okay. (: