There are these layers within me. The first one is an ugly smile. I wear it when I can.
The second is my humour. Its black and depressive but effective.
The third is a wall of nothing. It stands there as a last outer defense against this world and all of its people.
The fourth is tears. Those pathetic single-tear dramatisations which reveals and inspires the shame of my being.
The fifth is weeping. The kind when you try to keep silent so nobody hears you but can all see the hiccups of your chest. It lasts for a lifetime. Its the thickest, but most fragile wall. It makes people angry with you when you can’t stop crying. You can’t even manage to talk. Society rampages at you for this.
The sixth layer is red-eyed silence. You can really feel the pain, but you still struggle to speak. This can last for the better part of a year.
The seventh is insomnia, but not the usual kind. You cry out to the universe, praying that someone loves you enough to know that you’re not okay.
The eighth is the blade. Crimson fuelled by tears.
The ninth is emptiness. You feel your final tear . That’s it. A calm before the storm that you know you cannot face. It is your realisation that you need an escape route.
The tenth layer is more of a picket fence. This is your final moments before initiating your escape route. You feel the guilt of your existence, choose your final song and write some poetry. This is a love letter to those scars you call friend and family. After all, blood is thicker than water. Until you drown.
That was the last wall. You’ve reached my heart. And I can honestly tell you now, I have lost almost seven of my walls, and I haven’t the strength to rebuild them again.