Tired

I am tired of concealing the smile tattooed on the face of my heart.
I much prefer to bare it to the world.
Instead, I sit alone in the company of make-believe;
scavenging time and the rubble of memories

to determine which are real and which are contrived.

I am exhausted by the low-hanging fog of uncertainty,

And the odd stillness that envelopes me,

making it harder to make sense of the enduring silence.
It forces me to bite my tongue and manage feelings.