You don’t know the things they say behind your back,
The faces they make when you’re not looking,
The hate they hide in their hearts,
You don’t know how they wish to snatch the smile away from you face,
Their tears are fake and smiles artificial,
Their words manipulative, and sympathy counterfeited.
You don’t know how much they envy your happiness.
You don’t matter to them, never did.
But you’re too good to see it.
Perhaps you never will,
Until the day they succeed in ripping your heart out of your chest,
Replacing it with a void that neither beats nor feels,
It doesn’t flutter like the wings of a bird at the mention of love,
Or jump up and down like a little puppy from being excited,
Or thump like a drum being played at a concert in anticipation,
Doesn’t pulse or beat or rage or fly or skip or run,
Nothing succeeds in moving it even an inch.
It goes numb, still.
But until then,
You’re too good to see it
Blinded by love or whatever else you want to label it,
Holding on to false hope,
So full of kindness and innocence it makes me cringe
Cause I tend to read that as stupidity and ignorance,
Knowing you’re still wearing your rose colored glasses,
Refusing to ever take them off.
So until then,
Store up some happiness, no, lots of happiness
for the day your heart goes missing,
You’ll find yourself desperately clawing at invisible air
Only to clutch onto emptiness.
Just so you know.