Painted Smile

The smile that shields the inner workings of a troubled heart.
The mask that allows occulation  from anyone around.
So sick of walking around pretending to be happy.
This weight I carry almost forces me to collapse.
I try taking a breath, still cannot evoke the energy nor the willingness to do so.
I've tried to cry, if but to release all that I've collected, still a dry eye.
Is this my life now, is this what I've become?
Perhaps it's what I've always been.
Maybe this whole time I have played the fool so long and perfected the art.
Have I always been on this edge between this life and the next?
Have I finally awoke to true reality?
Or perhaps slipped further into the cimmerian shade of what I've become, or what I've always been?
One quiet thought is all I ask for, a reprieve  from the multifarious bombardment of noise.
Someone is coming, time to change faces.
Must'nt let anyone see the pain through this painted smile.
Will it ever fade?