Burdened

I have a secret none can know.
It colors every aspect of my life.
It affects all I do.
In everything, I must be cautious not to let it slip.
Not to let it shatter the illusion
And my life.
And my lie.
I know that there is help.
I know I could be cured.
To heal, though, is to tell,
And never be seen as I was.
As I am.
As that which I am, yet never was.
A lie.
I tell myself I'm not alone.
That others suffer as I do
Ensnared.
I search for signs in everyone.
I find them in some.
But I'm not sure.
And to ascertain is to tell.
And to tell is to invite ridicule.
Alienation.
Pain.
I float alone
In a sea of regret
And misery.
I am consumed.
I am without hope.
I find myself not caring about the world.
But I do.
I care enough to maintain my lie.
To maintain the person I want to be
Rather than that which I am.
I disguise myself daily
With a smile
And with casual
meaningless
conversations.
Every day I take up my shovel
And dig a little deeper into my pit.
I sit at my loom
And weave another dozen lies.
I take up my hammer
And forge more chains
Binding myself
Into darkness
And sorrow
Forever.
I am trapped
In a prison of my design.
A lie.