Fake Prisma Colors

I'm smiling so bright I can
paint a rainbow as I fall into
the cold black and white arms
of death.

Surely though this is when I
can truly be happy at long last.

I know I am fake, I am always
wearing a mask that no one can
distinguish from who I truly am
underneath.

It's best that way.

I clutch my red wrists as I fall
deeper and deeper into the darkness,
still trying to radiate a bright
color for the world before they all
turn those fake smiles on me and
dig their daggers of words deeper into
my heart.

Once more I will beg your love
anyway, no matter how fake I am please
just mumble that lie one more time
into my bleeding ears.

Because my train is forever delayed.

My prisma colors will scatter on this
world like shattered shards of glass
that I used to slice open my flesh when
the pain became too much, smiling and
laughing as I cried and bled.

It's too much, so surely it's time I
should just give up.

No one cares anyway, now do they darling?

After all, when you're just as fake as
everyone else, love is just a word.

Break down the barriers of life and death
as you whisper your final goodbyes to ears
that were never going to listen to them as
they are choked out.

Sayonara, darling.