The clock ticks,,each second a reminderof the charade,the performance that has grown too heavy,too worn

Outside, the world around acts happy and joyful with family and home, while I stand numbed by the absurdityof my own existence,my polished and painted on grin cracking,revealing shadows beneath, as ,an urgent whisper: says “Stop,just stop.”

It’s time to end the charade, a blackened flower in the night,its petals curlingwith the weight of despair,the sweet decayof all that once was, time to let go

In this horrid emptiness it’s time to say goodbye