Panic
A tired smile that's not quite yours,
A broken spirit behind closed doors.
Your heart is hurt your head is busy,
Your hands in your hair you're feeling dizzy.
You yearn for help but would never ask,
You pretend you're okay it's a heavy task.
Wanting the question "How are you?"
Wanting the question, when it comes you're untrue.
Hating the thought of being alone,
Hating the feelings never to be shown.
Copyright © Eve Heintzelman | Year Posted 2024
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