What I am made of.

People ask me what I am made of. I have no answers but whenever the question arrives I associate words like guilt, regrets, loneliness, brokenness, revolution, surrounded but alone, with my entire existence.
I breathe, but with a pipe, like how people often smoke, but instead of inhaling the addictive smoke I inhale hope, and air because I have nothing else left in me but darkness and I don’t know how long I can breathe hope through a cigarette. Around me, all I see is dark, and I have started to hate the color black even when I love it because I’ve started seeing that color everywhere no matter how hard I try to unsee it. I try to write poems, letters, and sometimes ballads out of my incessant sadness, loneliness and darkness in order to unclog the dark around me, to unclog the air above my head. I try to hard to make ends meet and tape myself up to keep going, and when the tape falls apart, I put more on myself, listen to more music and constantly fear falling apart. The darkness inside me is deep, and thick, and the loneliness gets to me on some days and the nights, they are always the hardest, because at night I can not call out to anyone for help. I don’t know from where it all started. I’m not the one who usually asks for help but the one who gives, and with so much happening at the same time, I’m constantly overwhelmed and even though I talk a lot about my feelings I don’t know how to properly ask for help.
So I keep the smile that I perfected over my time in school and the laughter that I’m close to perfecting, I keep myself “Happy and Jolly”
And hide whatever I actually feel.
I feel nothing most of the time, not happy, not sad, not irritated, not frustrated, just breathing most of the time, not wanting to burst out on anybody.
I’m living, feeling nothing but darkness in so many emotions and sometimes nothing still, and I hate how I’m living without feeling anything at all or not being able to feel the light.
So I’m putting on that smile again,
And it’s back on the grind.