The Last

Stumbling at the end of a
happy, jolly crowd, swept
along in the wake of their
fervor, and broken reject.
Can’t keep up with the rest,
A trembling mess inside,
Puts on a brave face, won’t
Let on how crushed they
Really are. They’ve been
Hurt, and horribly scarred.
Pretends they’re words
Don’t hurt, Left along they
Do naught but cry; and sleep.
Rising every morn, wishing
life would end. Braving anew
the awful pain that comes from
seeing their so-called friends.
A silent scream is what you’d
Hear, escaping from their frozen
Lips, if one should stop and listen.
But no, they blend into the crowd,
No distinguishing marks to give
Away their carefully hidden
Feelings.