Yes, I might act okay.
Walk around like I am fine every day.
Deep down I'm a broken mess.
My true feelings repressed.
The smile upon my face,
Tied up with invisible lace.
One sharp insult,
Will have horrible results.
So i play pretend,
And hope the depression comes to an end.
But until then,
The knife comes down as i count one through ten.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem