Musings of the Insane

It doesn't matter

You hold my hand gently,

speaking softly,

and yet it doesn't matter.

Because when you leave,

my mind collapses again,

and all hell breaks loose.

And when you see me again,

you see the exhaustion

and ask me if I'm okay.

I say yes and try to smile,

but you'll persist, as usual.

And I'll just shrug,

my voice a shade darker,

and tell you it doesn't matter.

You'll ask and beg,

then whine and plead,

but all you'll get is a smile

and a wink, to say that I'm alright.

Because in the end,

no matter how much pain I'm in,

all you'll hear is a bitter laugh

at my own expense,

as I tell you again that

it doesn't matter.