Genuine

Birds in my stomach

And fish in my brains,

I have not slept in eighty-eight days.

My thoughts hold hands

With loneliness in the dark

And I can’t fall asleep

With the light.

So I lay awake with painful images

And hope that maybe this aching will stop.

If I put on my mask

With the painted on smile,

Perhaps my mind will be tricked long enough 

For me to feel genuine again.