Pain

You will never know her.
She's not an open book
you can't read her.
You might think you could,
but that's actually
only the title.

She doesn't fake the smile,
her laughters are real.
It seems like she's enjoying her life,
but the truth is she's running from the pain.
the problems that keep haunting her.
The mask she's once wore,
is now probably a part of her.

"She seems fine."
Because she thinks,
no one will ever bother to care.
"There's people who asked"
but they didn't even bother to listen.
They asked to know,
and to reply,
not to understand
not even to feel.

"She has others."
She knows; but she doesn't trust.
She faced it.
Someone approached, offering help
But ended up being like others
Hypocrites.
She cried, was about to die.
Since that, she realised,
At the end of the day, all she has is
Herself.

"How could I know that?"
You won't,
because you did not pay attention
To everything she said
The songs she listened
The hopes that she shared
There's a few times, she tried,
She gave you hints
as it reached the point; she couldn't bear
to keep it all alone anymore
But again, you wouldn't notice it
Because you didn't actually care.

She keeps everything,
in her closets
She won't let anyone sees it
Never
She's no longer ask for somebody
To cure
To feel
Or even to act like they do
All she needs is
Coccaine
To make her forget her pain.