My heart stirs with very dark things (Anxieties that show up without warning, though I never intended to make you look at me quite like that.) sometimes... so much that I can no longer properly maintain a smile and so I hide the set of my lips because though they are closed, they still talk.

It's right beneath my skin, words scribbled in my handwriting onto my muscles so that they remember how painful it is to smile. Most of the time it is. Sometimes it hurts so much that I can't help but grin more. I know how to deal with pain though others may not approve of the methods. Sometimes, just sometimes it feels that I can breathe easier with a smile and soft little breaths that express my elation.

I press hard when I write though.

If someone were to peel away my skin, I'm afraid of what they would find. So I pull on layer after layer in attempt to mask what is obvious.

I was never a good liar.

Some admissions are inherently dangerous.

[I want to disappear. Just tell yourself it is my lack of sleep talking. It is what I tell myself. I hope to god it has some truth.]