Fake

I have this disease, and I know it sounds completely insane, and this is frowned upon in the social norm. But, I am what you call "Fake". My faults are covered by this facade. My label is, "false" and "completely inverted from reality". The assumption is that since I smile so much that I am on this proverbial high horse, that if I talk to you all I will tell you are lies. The latter of the two is valid. Everyday I am bombarded with labels that I tuck in my "dyke like" shirt pocket and try to ignore. Nobody knows how severe and uninhabitable my mind is. If, you to spend a moment in my brain, you would abandon it, jump ship to my esophagus and want to "come out" but you are too shit scared to.

My disease doesn't hurt anybody else but me. Everybody thinks that I am indestructible, that, Kayla, doesn't, have, any, feelings. I look out to you and I can feel the breath of all the people who don't believe me, scratching down my neck like razor blades to innocent skin. All the voices in my head saying "smile, its okay." So I smile." STOP SMILING KAYLA, YOU'RE NOT EVEN FUCKING HAPPY!"

You do not know this, but every night, I lay in my bed and cry. "STOP CRYING KAYLA! WHY DO YOU CRY SO MUCH? WHY DO YOU CRY SO MUCH? WHY DO YOU CRY SO MUCH?". Brain, I don't know...Nobody knows what it is like to be in servitude Of your own body. I know what you guys are thinking..."She needs to seek some professional help..."

No, I am too scared to see anyone because I am afraid that I might have something to fucking deal with. My mind is a plethora of constellations that I seldom say or write down because if I expressed that I am afraid that they will become real....

It is too late now, this is your reality.