Why do I laugh, when inside I want to cry? Why do my lips curve upward, when I'm full of turmoil inside?

So many masks, so many lies. Pointless and significant at the same time.

To be so cheerful on the surface and in utter agony within. Always cheering for my friends, but do they really care about me?

My friends know a lie. I've rehearsed my lines well. My own father suspects nothing. Ha! And he says he cares.

So many fabrications. Why do I bother? The truth will come out eventually. It always does.

Do I blind myself as well? There is no cure for this illness, no miracle. My only escape, the nothingness of sleep.

Many times have I considered the eternity of oblivion called death. Death, indeed, holds no pain, but also no hope.

Life .or death? Hope, or...?