to be told, the unseen.

They take a look at me,

have a talk with my mother:

"Oh no wonder".

Unaware of what really is, manifesting it out so well. We play pretend with quite a generous amount of manipulation. Indeed magnificent when acting. Then again maybe not at all. Perhaps another way of coping; blocking it all out by putting on a brave face, a more loveable acceptable self to the world. You're either who you've always been but never really feel, who you no longer are or who you wish to be. 

We've been at it long enough to have become a grammy worhty.

Everybody breaks. Just not us. Not here. Not ever.

It's always perfect. It's always better than anyone else's in their eyes. We make it look simple, we make it seem easy because it is once you're at it. It is when you get the hang of it. Nothing is ever really as it is though sincere still, just sick in the head. They'll never know, I'll never let them. I used to get confuse by it, despising everything showcased; every lie, every "we're okay". We've gotten in denial. There comes moments where I believe that we actually are, possibly another way to point out that it has become a part of us.

This is what they all think they want.

This is my life.

-riri-