How do they, those that are content those that are ok. How do they think of me. Do they really believe that I am who I show? Do they not oft wonder if I am like my second skin, my skin that I show all but none. My optimistic and fun shell that's goal is to conceal and hide my inner darkness, do they not think beyond this husk? My suffering and self inflicted pain, my fatal and deathly thoughts. Have they thought not to these dark and spoiling inquiries, as if though they will infect them with their melancholy. Happiness is a virtue but sadness is a need, yet they believe like all modern people that it is a sickness a disease, something that needs to and will be avoided at all costs. But why!