Slipping into myself once more.
Away from all the whispers and the swarms of people.
Contemplating in silent suffering,
I hide away without a word or even backward glance.
What's a life with regrets?
Many...many "if" questions.

On the exterior seemingly annoyed, angry and sad.
These emotions are constantly a front.
A consistant mask that seems right to have in place.
Inside, it is all rot.
Trying to juggle too many tasks and always having to start over too far along the sequence...
Optomism is far; out of reach.

A smile might shatter the perfected facade forever.
A laugh might put happiness within reach.
But merely the state of happiness cures nothing.
Happiness does not cure death.
Happiness does not cure diseases.
Happiness does not cure your memory of the past.

Happiness is only a facial reflex.