The Mind of an Introvert

A constant weight that never falters,

A constant sore that never heals.

We wear a mask to hide the truth,

Even though people don’t care enough to try and discover them.

We enjoy being alone,

yet hate feeling lonely.

We try our best to make others feel contempt,

Despite the deepening heartache with every fake smile.

Maybe that’s why we became introverts,

The thought of acting once more disgusts us.

No one cares,

We don’t blame them though,

There’s not much to care about.

We consist of skin and bones,

Our hearts may be beating but that doesn’t dismay our feelings.

We are not living for ourselves,

In fact we are living for everyone but ourselves.

We live in the deepest, cruelest parts of our mind,

And we cannot seem to escape.

We keep going back,

And it’s out of our control.

We can’t do it again,

We can’t do this anymore.