No Outlet

If anyone were willing to listen, I would not dare risk it by speaking. Anyway, there is no cure in words so words are worthless to speak. To express my need in any fashion would nullify its fulfillment. Unexpressed, it remains unknown and unfulfilled all the same but at least without the sting of fishing and cultural obligation. The need itself is too much to ask--a burden unfair to share. I am a walking curse. And so, I dress with smiles. I pamper with laughter and spritz comedy as perfume. I disguise with insight and hide behind small achievements while I await my farce to crumble. As my joints slowly fail me, I collapse alone. I cannot share. Stories don't produce but provide excuse over bread. We cannot live on sympathy and others cannot thrive whilst mourning my useless shell. To break a little is to fail both miserable and alone, but to break fully gains understanding for the stiff with a shockwave of destruction for the quick. There is no course to win the Kobayashi of such life as mine.