Ruse

All you do is win them over and make them understand

That everything you do isn’t for you, but really just for them

Sit in awe while you work, they might call it magic

You’ll never stop, and intentionally make life more tragic

And life is bliss to those around you, from every ounce you give

But none of them know the tragedy in which you live

You cover it up by making other people happy

Take the spotlight off your problems, can’t you see?

Why do you continue to wear out your insides?

If everyone else is happy, does it allow you to finally hide?

Do you think that if you give answers they won’t ask questions?

How long can you mask it all with good intentions?

Eventually it will kill you, all the pent up bullshit

And those who you choose to indulge will eventually see it

But nobody really knows that behind the generous exterior

There lies a crippled soul, in a wisp of an interior

And from what exactly stems your untold depression?

None of us even know, because you won’t let us in.