Despair cloaked in irony,
layers of deep seeded anguish
behind a joke, a one-liner
designed to fool anyone who listens.
I smile while I lie to their faces.
With the laughter,
the one form of acceptance I know,
it’s like you want me to lie more.
What am I if not a joke and a grin?
When the jokes stop, so do your invitations,
when I can’t bring myself to keep up the facade,
you’ll leave just like they all have.
It’s not pretty, it’s an art
the way it’s all so goddamn predictable.
They ask questions that fuel their own self doubt
because they need to do better than me,
but all I ask is
what does that achieve?