I paint a smile across the cracked and compromised circuitry of my face,
Duck-tape holding down the inventory of every riot and disgrace,
Clock into the madness like it’s printed on the morning dress code card,
Bleeding underneath the jacket while they call me professional and hard.
Mirror holds somebody I don’t entirely recognize by afternoon,
Smiling at the small talk while the wolves conduct their business and rehearsing soon,
Coffee gone cold and the civility thin as any argument I’ve made,
Screaming on the inside in the most socially acceptable charade.
Silence is a surgical knife.
Every grin’s a hostage taken in the ongoing daily life.
Laughing with the bottle while the spiral gathers speed below,
Dressed like I’m together when I’m burning in the undertow.
Don’t ask how I’m doing unless you brought the time to hold the answer.
I’m the cracked-out punchline in a comedy that can’t locate its cancer.
Memorized the script but I’m choking on the arc they wrote for me,
Performing what they want to see instead of what I actually be.
Don’t call it functioning — I call it an elaborate controlled decay,
Just a dressed-up breakdown executing choreography all day.