#176

Elsewhere,
just not here.

I know places, but—
I doubt they know me still.

I used to cry, but—
even my tears are different.

The spark in my eyes is no more,
and neither is the real smile
that breaks through my facade of sadness.

My happy face is now the mask.

I—

I just want to go
someplace else,
where I—

I'm tired.
Really, really tired.

I just want to—
find a soft spot for me to lay.

I'm tired of lying.

Anywhere but here.

Popular posts from this blog

The General Who Almost Became Filipino: Rethinking Douglas MacArthur’s Legacy

#114

#51 Short Story