I Am Okay

I am okay. Three simple words, such hypocrite words. How are you? You ask me, not even caring not even knowing about who I am what I am, how I feel. How could you know? I don’t blame you. I don’t blame my eyes that can’t meet yours, staring at the floor because I can’t lie to others as much as I can lie to myself. I am okay. I answer, forcing a shaking little smile on a white crumbling face, pinching my cheeks to make them look red because red means life and life means joy. I am okay. I could be, but I’m not. How could you know? Inside I’m collapsing aching bending withering, a flower in the winter too tired to try to keep alive, fading slowly falling onto the dry cold land. But that you can’t see. I am a knight, with a shining silver fake smile on a pale perfect face and my lies as a sword protecting me from words. I am okay. But how could you know? How could you not see? My body is a facade that looks perfect to the eyes but when you put a little pressure with your trembling tempting hand, cracks open, wounds show, black dark blood runs cold out of the rifts But you don’t even notice it because who would pay attention to black blood on a black floor, uniforming and blending, it’s invisible unnoticeable I don’t blame you. Because after all I answered you, with timid voice and quiet eyes: I am okay.