Just because I don't cut myself,
Don't open my wrists with a blade.
Doesn't mean that I don't need some kind of beautiful escape.
Because although I laugh
and I dance and I smile,
I also have pain course through my blood for a while.
You cannot see my scars,
Bruises nor burns.
Because I find my escape in other ways.
Ways it doesn't have to hurt.
I lose myself.
In magic, with dragons and demons and beasts.
Fairies, that carry out miraculous feasts.
In love, with high schools and sweethearts and a race for the train.
A friend turned lover, and beautiful kisses in the rain.
In horror, with blood and gore and guts.
A running masked man, and a cabin in the woods.
I lose myself in the pages of stories these heroes called authors write.
I sink into magnificent world's each and every night.
But at some point...
As we all know.
And the cracks again start to show.