Beneath the laughter’s practiced gleam,
there hums a quiet, splintered dream—
a trembling pulse behind the glass,
where every thought must gently pass.
We stitch our smiles with borrowed thread,
pretend the cracks are mended, fed;
but under silk and sunlight’s glaze,
the mind drifts off in shadowed haze.
Each tender truth we dare to keep
lies restless, murmuring in sleep;
a single word, a fleeti...