Ever Since The Truth Became A Thing.

You know no one loves you.

But you get out of bed anyways. 

Put on that pretty dress and lipstick. 

You try for them.
And yet nothing in return.
The cycle.
The cliché.
The annoyance.
Ever frustrated.
Ever alone.
Your soul can hardly bear it anymore.
You beg for mercy, you pray to whatever God you don't cry for.
Paint such a pretty picture of all your pain.
Wearing it like fine gold.
And still no one is there to understand why your tears are crimson.
Why your heart is ice cold.
Or why your mind is borderline insane.