Peter Pan Syndrome

hurts to smile when I feel this lost
endlessly scarring myself on the outside
to try to kill the thing gnawing inside
don't want to be just the same
but can't stand the things that make me different
what is this thing raging within
demon, disease, simple dysfunction?
or am I just weak?
do all of these smiling fake glassy-eyed clones
feel this and deal, when I am unable to stand beneath this weight
of loss, of lack of love, of simple lies told to
simpler minds who never question
never wonder, never stir within their cocoons of cold content?
thier stagnant world of dulled emotion and buried dreams
holds nothing but terror for me in a world that does not
reward the search for ultimate happiness
that most unattainable of faerie tales.