Mud Puddle

Why can't I seem to escape this Overwhelming stress and self-hatred? It's as if everyday I wake up at the bottom Of a mud puddle, chocking on the dirty water. And throughout the entire day All I'm trying to do is reach the surface But I catch a glimpse at my skin tainted brown with The mud and murk of this disease And it brings me to my knees. It's the constant knowledge that I'm performing. That no one around knows who I really am Or even really wants to try to. So I have to put on this fake smile And make them believe that I'm not inhaling all that muddy water. And maybe on unique occasions They notice the water dripping From my clothes when I return home from work, But they are silent and tell themselves I was caught in a sudden rain storm And I take my cue to continue to perform. The puddle is the reason I can't Seem to function without the influence Of drugs or alcohol Sneaking snips of nicotine from my cigarette In between my displays of normalcy Due to the guilt I carry About not knowing where My life is going or why I'm even trying to get anywhere at all.