Something's eating me inside.

Depressed, I can't find a word
to elaborate this very moment
how I actually feel.
A bug, or few, is eating me inside.

Leaving, you take everything
with you, and yet you cannot steal
my feeling toward you.

Carry on, or hold one, they say.
Shake it off, or suck it up, they say.
I guess I am not one of them.
At least, I cry you a fucking Pacific Ocean.

Pretending, I smile at you like
always I did when you are
around.
Face is not mine, heart's eaten
by a bug, or two.