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?
