Disclaimer: I don't own Thirteen or any other House, M. D. character.

Hypocrisy, a Thirteen poem

My nights, I spend them alone

encircled in mist that blinds me

and keeps me from seeing any light.

Stranded in my own little world,

a world of streets where I myself get lost.

I walk by dark alleys

while shadows suffocate me.

I try to scream, but my scream only echoes inside of me.

My body is a barrier that muffles the sounds

of the war that goes on in the spirit that inhabits it.

On the outside, I remain almost impassive.

My silence hides inexpressible cries.

Who do I fool?

Not me; I know myself too well.

But of no-one else can I say the same.

If it is true that to some I reveal myself,

it's not always, and it's never all.

The most important things, what affects me the most,

that's what I keep to myself,

as an insane preciosity,

a treasure of the madness that takes me.

I then create my isolation,

I retire into myself,

where it's always a dark night,

where I shiver as in the coldest hours,

even under the heat of the sun.

And I can't even sleep

consumed that I am by thoughts.

Insomnia provokes me, tempts me

to do the unspeakable,

yearning that I thought forgotten

but that returns quite stronger.

Even like that, my irrational pride

prevents me from admitting that I perish.

I live the fantasy of being well,

of the apathy while my world is crashing.

Until when?