the threads in her head

Kiss. Seal and lock those lips together - bite. The paper burns the lips with its touch, the red ticks like bloody wounds. Blood, it stains the white teeth red, it fills her mouth as she mopes. Broken, and she wants no one to know.

A wall of smiles act as a barricade, isolating rather than drawing people closer.

Off. Only because I feel too weary to patch up that wall; too weary, too tired. But, it is not hard to bluff the world. I could spin a mask that fools even the closest to me. I could.

Do I want to?

There is grace in acceptance and bearing, comfort in promises, empty as they are. But there is, to some, at times, an even greater sastifaction in the warped belief that you would not have to worry. The trick is not to push you away when you know I'm hurting, but to not even let you know I'm hurting. It takes effort. It's sapping and draining. But for that one moment, you see, your eyes would scan but find no cracks. Then, there is no need for another heart to beat in sync to the melody of pain.

There is only so many falls a net can take before it breaks. Time is needed for strengthening, as with other things. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but a series of falls at a go with no reinforcement would result in a swift death all the same.

If you think I'm silly, spot the flaw then.