Happiness as it seems,

is a good thing.
It's a thing I have.


I write of love and promiscuity, things I don't know of.
It's easy for me to play pretend.
I write of sadness because I drudge it out of my heart, but I often ignore the smiles.


It's a constant for me to have my cheeks blushed with laughter. So even in my most honest moments: things may not always be as I feel, things may not always be as I write them.