Playacting

I'm working on working
on things that matter,
but as a matter of fact
it's only chatter:
noise to drown the violence
in the silence of this void.

I fake a smile,
make it laugh, then
quick as fast
I fill you in,
and grieve again,
can't breathe again
and I beg for sleep
to dream again.

I shut you out
and feign acceptance,
push you back
into the recess,
hold you high above my head
and breathe in everydayness.

The process doesn't fit my ache;
though you were never mine to take,
this letting go is only fake:
a break that's made to look like bending.
My hope and sadness keep on blending,
and this ocean's never-ending.

The ocean never ends
and my breaking never bends
and this smile's just pretend.