I thought it would be me to sheath your internal screams.
Only now I know,
Simply a ticking clock, a filler of time.
A initial sunny disposition,
Replaced by a numb coating.
Yet I still guided, gilded,
Painting each rotten surface gold.
I ignore my own,
Those pitiful cries for reassurance,
Hindering my sanity to temporarily comfort the heart.
My compliant selflessness.
Each flaw held and treasured,
Yet, so unable to embrace those within.
Eventually I begin to hinder,
My sobs and vulnerabilities surface.
A spacial disconnectedness,
Out leaks the carefully concealed rot.
Golden hues morph green,
Emerald envy burns every chasm.
The voices creep into the cracks,
Shatters of lonely lovelessness.
Observing my replaceability,
My meaningless sacrifice.
Did she become your healer?