An Infection of the Soul

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Masquerade balls in school lunch lines: 

I'm fine, why do you ask?

 

Pretend is all I can do.

Pretend like I don't feel torn apart. 

Pretend like I even know who I am.

 

I always though I was just sensitive,

but that isn't the case?

There may be a cause of all this intensity?

 

But then, what about the happiness?

Is that just the virus as well?

How much of who I know is actually me?

 

Like playing tug-of-war

with my own emotions.

 

Like tearing a piece of music

down the center and burning the pieces.

 

Nobody can know. 

They'll think I'm crazy.

Nobody can know.

They'll abandon the lost.

Nobody can know.

 

But who will help me?

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