The heart hurts from all of the inflictions of life,
Always crying out for help due to such great strife.
No one ever hears the pleas forever pouring out,
Even when they seem to shout.
The eyes regularly show evidence of the red flag,
And the feet, with each step, constantly drag.
Everyone walks by having no clue of the pain within,
While a forced smile greets them as kin.
One side of the story has never been fully told,
Therefore, a mask will the hand then hold.
Each morning it is placed upon the face,
In order to hide away any trace,
Of what the heart truely feels,
In which this mask now conceals,
Away from all.
But the cry still does call,
For someone to hear.