Coccoon

Don't ask me how I'm doing
Don't wake up the monster, I have just put to sleep
It's just a question, start of a formal conversation.
The answer of which may linger with you for a moment or two
Being whisked into air in a go.

Within me, it unleashes a silent storm
Ready to cause some new destruction
Eating away the left over bits
Like a hovering vulture, prying all along
Leaving my wounds again raw and sore
With a half dead soul

Don't ask for my real smile
Let the fake one stay
As the real one can't survive in this town
Dying a brutal death
Better buried alive than dead

Don't ask if my eyes hide any pain
'Cause it's my new treasured possession
With a promised long stay
May be they are just the way they are supposed to be
After all those tears
Some being waterfalls, few drizzle
Left now as sand dunes of a desert

Let the new me exist
Who is happy in her own coccoon
Keeping the outside world's​ interaction
Least and minimum
Neither causing trouble nor inviting any

Please, don't ask me how I'm doing
As always, I have to say I'm good
Which isn't true, no more.