Perhaps you know me too well.
Or more likely, not at all,

                                                           This is probably the only place
                                                           Where the truth will be published.
But they're all lies to you.

                                                           I stand at your shoulder,
                                                           a smile ready for when you turn around,
                                                           I'll listen to everything you say,
                                                           pay attention,
                                                           and forget myself in your problems.
                                                           I'll watch the shadows on the ceiling fade,
                                                           Lie in my bed, wiping the corners
                                                           of my eyes with the blanket,
                                                           as the hour hands fly by,
                                                           wondering how I could have helped you.

I remember a time when tears
Flowed like fountains,
Crying for every little thing
Hoping that the weakness
Washes away my pain.
But the dirt kicked into my eyes,
Only hurt more.

                                                           I strive to be selfless,
                                                           Because I hate every fucking one of you.
                                                           For hurting others
                                                           for the benefit of a few laughs.
                                                           for not being able to see how much pain
                                                           you cause just by saying, or not saying
                                                           a single word.
                                                           I loathe every one of you,
                                                           for not being able to see me
                                                           no matter how close I stand.
                                                           I listen on instinct, only to figure out,
                                                           how to make you human.
                                                           I listen and listen,
                                                           say something when you want me to,
                                                           be there when you need me to.
                                                           Why? why…

Anyone who put me before themselves,
Anyone like that,
Anyone that put their arms around me,
Without being asked,
Anyone that'd listen,
Without counting the minutes,
Anyone who would stay awake,
As I did in thoughts of them

They've all left,
but do you believe they ever existed?
                                                            
Watch me make an idiot of myself,
Watch me smile consistently,
Watch me speak to everyone,
annoy them, irritate them,
laugh along with them
Watch me match insults with winks
Watch me closely.

Watch how my spirit is chipped
With every lie
Watch how I'm misunderstood,
But my lips are curved up, and set in place.
An idiot, a psycho, a stalker,
A helper, an optimist, a liar.
You've watched and watched,
Now tell me,
What do you know about me?

Humor me,
'cause I don't know myself.

When you put on a mask,
And never remove it,
Can it ever get to a point,
Where you can't remove it?
Where the edges have melted into your skin,
At the sides of your face,
And it becomes You.

I watched that little boy put on the mask to hide from the world,
A colorful mask of many shades, and intricate designs,
Red with passion, blue with sorrow, yellow with inner calm, purple for regal grace.
I watched him scare and impress a few people with it,
I watched him put on a splendid show.
I watched his twisted grin as he kept living for the performance.
For him, the show would never be over.

When the curtains close,
Walk out of the theatre, as fast as you can.
Seeing the actor, out of character, would only hurt his business.

Doesn't really matter how I feel inside,
because the tears well up behind my eyes,
But they won't spill outside.

Practice has made me perfect.