a bigger shell..

Each new night, I prep myself for a bigger and much studier shell. then one fine day it'll get so thick that nobody can have access to it.

I have a pair of dry and rough hands, obviously meant for building the shell with them. The skin is peeling, the blood is dried but the shell-construction work still carries on, for it'll never stop building.

I'll never show a sad face, I'll never show that i'm crying because it's not meant for anyone to see. Everyone wants to see a smiling face. The mask that I have been consistently wearing, will provide the smile for them to see.

I tried to be strong, but apparently I've failed.



Each new day, my health deteriorates.
The coughing will never ends.


Everything turns silent..
including myself..