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Only My Hands Can Explain These Tears

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I am one of those ever smiling people, never sad and never angry.
I float and drift through the sun's hours with happiness on my face.
I wave, laugh and tell a dozen jokes to blind witnesses who see but don't really see.
I move from crowd to crowd, wondering and searching for one who'll actually look.
But no one seems to notice, no one seems to care
So only these hands of mine can explain the tears I shed.

When the sun recedes to rest and prepare for the morrow.
I too rest my smile and brick by brick tear down my walls.
I put away the memories I carry to stretch my face and hide my pain.
I shelve away what strength I have and hope it'll be enough to carry me still.
I look in the mirror and the nile flows in graceful streams down my face.
The dull eyes staring back are that of a well known stranger.
And the hands reaching up to offer comfort are stranger still.

The sobs that wreak through my battered body go unseen.
The violent trembling barely hidden under heaps of blankets.
Heavy yet too thin to keep the freezing cold clawing at my heart at bay.
My lungs burn, struggling to keep up with my ragged breaths.
As sleep comes to offer temporary solace, I pray to never wake.

Alas even the heavens won't open themselves and welcome my tired soul.

And these hands will continue to be my only witness.

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