I play a show
To help the tears run slow
Making a fake sister, mother and father
Why do I bother?

I develop a world
Made from my purl
Why do I need to stitch characters in my heart,
To prevent it from tearing apart?

Why is my soul filled with chafe,
From the fact that I am a waif?
Surrounding myself with mannequins cannot atone
From the fact that I am alone


Thank you for reading. Any constructive feedback would be deeply appreciated.

Remember folks, don't get addicted to your discouragement... that is how depression starts.