Hold them back;

You don't deserve the luxury of shedding those tears.

...

Child called 'failure', walking with your head hung low. Your ripped gray-white shoes shuffle across the rough floor like invisible chains are dragging you back- every step a struggle. You are nothing but a sorry sight, but the world holds no compassion for you.

Everytime the soles of your shoes makes contact with the solid, unforgiving ground, the dull ache hammering away at your legs become more apparent. You want it to stop, child called 'failure', but you don't; you know you deserve it for letting everyone down.

Already dubbed a 'failure' but you still add the title of 'liar' to your name. Stupid. It was easy: breaking a promise to a dead person. And so every promise you make, you break. Failure, you feel like Atlas with guilt the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you plough on.

You wear a smile, when you're not alright. You enjoy the pain, thinking it rightful for what you dealt. You keep your mouth clamped, locked up and shut when all you want to do was cry. Cry for help and never, ever stop until your gone.

Gone.

...

But hold back the saltine drops threatening to fall from poignant brown eyes.

Hold them back;

You don't deserve the luxury of shedding those tears.

...

Let your heart break instead.

It's time to give up.