In front of the stage, I am being swallowed by my euphoric atmosphere. I am almost always brave even to the extent of wrestling a lion. And dead sure, I play a role of oh-so-lively-and-energetic human being. And so the great pretender of 21st Century was born.
Everyday, I show to no one who is the “suffering” me. I dare not to reveal it. That's why I love make-ups, for they conceal those hideous pimple scars. They are illusions of an instant glow. People don't know, behind those loud laughters, lays the pain and sadness of my life. I'm really a good actor, I can say.
But at the end of the day, when the lights are all off and everybody's awake no more, it seems I can't fake this one annoying human being.. the one whom I see in my reflection, myself. My pillows are my witnesses in every cut my life-battles give to me.. for only on them, I weep. And every night, I'm alone encountering the crucial truth that I'm completely broken inside. That's why I always find myself comfortably lying but consciously bleeding.. sometimes softly sleeping but silently hurting.. and most of the time, continuously breathing but slowly dying..
