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Personal Note:
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Poem
Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending not living a lie;
while the truth is such, I pretend too much,
I'm trapped in that need till I die.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending that I'm going well,
my days seem okay as I smile away,
but the nights are a tortured hell.

Too real is this feeling of make-believe,
too real when I feel what I cannot reveal.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending that trust is skin-deep,
all ideals are dust, cosmetics a must,
although why can't I get to sleep
and why does my subconscious weep?

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending I'm able to love,
(the conscious agrees, while my language grieves)
I can't turn to heaven above,
for well it knows my velvet glove.

Too real is this feeling of make believe,
too real when I feel what I daren't reveal.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending that I've not betrayed,
so on angels' wings, hope eternal springs,
though far inside me is not swayed,
and my beating heart's more afraid.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending that I didn't cheat,
yet nails to the quick speak deep mental sick,
see the grave I'm so soon to meet,
with nothing but darkness to greet.

Too real is this feeling of make-believe,
too real when I feel what I'd fear to reveal.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending to him I was true,
called him my soul-mate, in my cancerous state
the lung-tumour grew and spread through,
and my mirror said this is you.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending I've nothing to hide,
but if everyone knew what would I then do,
with my nakedness certified, 
my reality opened wide?

Too real is this feeling of make-believe,
too real when I feel what I'd dread to reveal.

Oh, yes, I'm the great pretender,
pretending that all will be right,
and on such a prayer, my core is laid bare,
for ever, each day and each night,
for ever, each day and each night.

(With thanks and respect to that great group, The Platters)
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