To Whom It May Concern

When did fear get so real,
That we put it on a pedestal.
Wouldn't trade it for anything,
Even someone who could treat us right.

When did we let go of hope,
Get caught up finding every distraction.
Find a substitute but it's a poor fit,
Lying next to you but you're still painfully lonely.

Couldn't find a pill,
Or a promise at the bottom of any bottle.
The bitter truth is it makes time stand still,
But, we just keep on getting older.

We practice our faces,
Hiding behind a genuine looking smile.
Sometimes the whispers creep through,
But it's still so quiet only we're the ones who hear it.

We give in to somebody,
Who we think feels so very real.
But, they strip away the parts of us,
Chisel us into their own dream.

And when you meet someone who's real,
You're unprepared for how it feels.
Make a sad excuse just to hide away,
Dash your hopes with no appeal.

So when distractions get old,
And the chase has lost it's thrill.
We'll sit silently and just listen,
For another whisper through a smile.