#93: A Game of Charades

I could hear him crying in the bathroom,

It was the third time this week,

And as much as he tried to lie,

He was just as broken as the rest of us,

 

He was the master of charades,

Every smile he ever wore was a front,

A constant effort to be strong,

To have it all together,

 

He stifled his cries,

But I could feel the vibrating pulses of a broken soul,

The door opened,

And I saw his silhouette,

 

Against the back drop of the bathroom light,

I saw him smile again,

It didn’t take him to long,

To return to his game of charades

 

© Aisha-Nicole 2016

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: