Happiness is an illusion; a lie made up by the voice in your head
to give you hope and keep you on your feet
The minute you think you have cracked the code
and finally grasped this superficial being,
it is snatched away overnight, taken from you
without a moment’s notice
stripped from the shelves and never replaced.

At first the hole is gaping and empty,
so much that it hurts.
And it remains there as a reminiscent of what you had,
mocking you because you will never have it back.

As time marches on, the emptiness has gradually washed away;
simply forgotten about after a while,
but on the desolate days in which despair takes over
the wound is sometimes gashed back open,
quietly continuing to bleed, watching you in agony.

Time cannot heal all wounds but will merely cover them

with a bandage, which will inevitably come off
and expose the laceration.
Happiness is a trick played on the heart;
a mirage completed with false hope and deceit.
Once you think you can’t let go, it slips out from between your fingers,

returning only to remind you of what you used to have,
and what won’t come back.