its not him

I need to explain I know I do.
He needs to know it's not him, its not.
I know his wants, his needs.
Yet I sit here and write.
What I can't tell him, I tell his computer.
Then lock it up tight.
He can never know what's in my head.
He'd never understand, that I'm all alone.
I just close my eyes and pretend all is right.
I know better, so does he.
Yet it remains unspoken, nonexistent.
He plays my game with me, we both pretend.
We pretend I'm not in pain.
That I'm not lost somewhere in my mind sometimes.
That I'm not so full of fear, of him, of me, of the silence.