Shelled

I am the painting Pablo is painting;
my spirit is lost in that detached blue.
I’m drowning in this cold.
I’m at the end of myself.
Why do I dance with this grand façade,
when inside I’m cracked?
unknown to the cause at which I suffer,
I hide inside to yield the world away
this new approach of torture has reached a level
I thought too high for you.
and for some reason you seem to be the epicenter of my pain.
I’m just never enough,
And I just can’t give you your boyish childhood fantasies.
My heart is ignorant to the world,
but all you see is a hole and an ignorant person,
Am I falling?
Or am I floating?
I’m finding it impracticable to receive what you want when you don’t even know.
I’m in the hands of this world,
and I just don’t care
I don’t want to know, but I crave answers.
The air is suffocating but no one knows.