With the weight of the world by the end of the day,

You wake up with sadness, and end it with madness.

My mask is becoming thicker.

They say, fake it 'till you make it.

But I don't know how long I'm going to fake it.

Thankful for the 10:30PM curfew.

Or else, I'm gonna go rush to the store.

Buy some beers, and by the time I'm alone,

I will drown myself with booze and loneliness.

Or better yet, I will smoke every stick of cigarette

From the pack I stashed, hidden behind my bookshelf.

That bookshelf is perhaps my mask itself.

Behind this facade, is an ugly terrifying truth.

Life is tucked in the everyday.

All the highs, and lows.

Between the knowing and not knowing.

The stream in a stand still,

And the river that just keeps on flowing.

For the mountains so high that seems

impossible to reach and a valley that's

Only a stone's thrown away.

I have always tried to convince myself,

There is still hope, there's still a pot of gold at the end of all this.

But there are days when that hope only becomes a flicker, almost dying.