Pretentious Bliss

Sorrow is as cold as I can remember.
It beckons me with its agonizing voice.
I’d bring myself to disremember
It’s icy presence if I had a choice.

The strength I show, shining without feels pretentious.
Has my will really been mended,
or is it the ill essence of hope leaving me nauseous?
I pray for the hour I can say, lament’s tyranny has ended.

This dreary mentality is hidden by day
and raids the common night
like murderers summoning their uncanny dismay.
I’ll wipe the blood away, turn around and say hi
as if everything was okay.

The next war of emotions will come,
but my winded heart has yet to catch its breath.
I’m slowly dying within hoping for some
reprieve before my heart submits to a frigid death.

My sadness will come gushing from my wound.
I don’t want to fake this happiness forever.
Will happiness bleed out of my veins
so I can watch my faith be severed?

I’ll be helpless before long for a raven’s claw
to come be my ender, and I’ll stare in awe.
Devastation will be the witness who saw…

My lungs being overwhelmed with distress..
Will there ever be an end to this mess?