A Life of Pretending

A despondent cry blares from my eyes,
pleading "Help me"
to the surrounding strangers.
I look around, hoping to find
a reason to live.
The bustle of the bar is
a subtle reminder that I'm failing:
no friends at my side,
no friends on my phone,
not a soul to save me from myself.

I hold my drink.
I fear it will break
for I hold onto it so tightly,
like a life preserver,
and I float in this ocean
knowing full well, "Not tonight."
No ship will be throwing me rope
and lifting me onto its decks
under the darkness of this waning moon.

I raise the glass to my lips -
a drink I do not need
and
a drink I do not want
- but I raise the glass to my lips
and I swallow the only liquid
that can make me feel akin
to the people around me.
I feel normal for a moment,
pretending to be enjoying my drink,
pretending to be confident,
pretending to be okay.

All the laughter and music
is drowned out by the truth,
a reverberating bass in my head
shouting, "No one will save you",
but I still know in my eyes
I cry out for help, and hope,
as 'Hopeless Place' echoes
in the bar and I'm drowning
surrounded by ships in a sea,
a sea I'm scared to let take me
and yet I think of nothing else.