Black and White

Title:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Black and White

Author:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Korde

Rating:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  It's probably more PG-13.

Warnings:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Um"¦ Angst?

Summary:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  It's hard, living behind a mask.

Feedback:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Yes please. 
Constructive criticism only"¦Â 
Flamers will be shot; survivors will be given to my psycho albino Drow
Lost.  Leftovers will be eaten.

Disclaimer:style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  This is a work of fiction.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  It's written from the POV of one of my RP
characters.  Though admittedly the poem
is something I wrote over a year or so ago when I was feeling a bit"¦
unbalanced.

I was almost afraid to post
this because it's very real.  It seems
like something a person would write about himself or herself.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  I probably should have written it from a
third person POV, but it has more of an impact this way.

**

Black and White

There are two halves to a
whole

Darkness and light

Show one to the world

Keep the other locked
tight

The line is thin

Between truth and lies

Show a smiling face to
the world

A world which you despise

Careful though

The mask might crack

Reveal the real you

In startling white and
black

**

They don't know me.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  No one does.

It hurts, you know, to
maintain this façade.

I'm the smiling child, the
laughing adult, and underneath it all, the withering shell.

My parents are blind.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  They think they know me, but they
don't.  My friends only see a mask.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Cleverly constructed pretty porcelain with a
broken glass lining.  But they don't see
the blood as is runs in rivulets down my neck. 
No, they don't want to see it. 
They turn their heads away when my mask slips and I loose patience.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  When it slips on the blood and I let them
know how deeply I'm hurting.

They ignore my scars, both
physical and emotional.  They don't know
what it's like.  Trapped inside my
mind.  They'd go insane.

Insane for the want of a
heart.

I don't have one.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Maybe I still do, but it stopped beating a
long time ago.  I can't feel it
anymore.  I can't feel anything.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Not even the cool burn of the blade as it
travels through my flesh.

Red.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  It's the only color I can see anymore.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Red for passion, red for pain.

They don't see it though,
seeping from the edges of my mask.  They
don't see any of it.  Maybe they just
don't want to.  I don't blame them.

I don't want to be here
anymore.  Not in this world amongst
humans.  I've never been one of
them.  I've never belonged.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  But I'm here, and they're here, and neither
of us are going anywhere.  I'm not going
to kill myself.  I'm too much of a
masochist.

I can't stand it
though.  The lies.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  I tell them everyday and they slip out so
easily.

I'm fine.

My day went well.

I laugh so readily too.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  I laugh at all their jokes and I even fool
myself sometimes.  I fall for my own
lies, however briefly.

Perhaps I think too
much.  The blood makes me stop
thinking.  It makes the mask stop
hurting me.

I know what advice I'd get,
were I to talk to anyone.

Take it off.

I can't.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  I've worn it too long.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  My friends and family would run at the
hideous thing beneath the mask.  They'd
scream in terror if they knew my mind. 
The hate there.  The sorrow
there.

They'd hate me for it.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  I can't say that I'd exactly care.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  I can live without them.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  Except I might wind up locked in a tiny room
with a window in the door, where people look in on me from time to time.

I'm too claustrophobic for
that.

The mask is slipping though,
and it's started to crack.  It might
fall to pieces one day.

I'd repair it, but I'd have
to take it off to do so.  I can't risk
that.

I can't risk them seeing
what's inside.  The violence, the pain,
the utter hatred of everything.  I'm
numb.  I'm cold.

I'm saving them you
know.  It's better that they don't
know.  For them, for me.style=\"mso-spacerun: yes\">  It's better this way.

It's better.