I suppose worst is over
Knife pulled from the wound

Or like a broken bone freshly set

But being through the worst
Wonder what comes next

Chest tight
Anxiety

To not consider there ever could be an 'after' for us was just foolish

We thought we would be able to withstand any storm

So giving in like that after hurricanes and tornadoes
Amidst a light drizzle
Hurts

Twist story however you like

We were convinced love had the answers

Existed in a plane above the rest of the world

Which sounds like beautiful scenario until you look closer

And realize when you're up that high you've got a helluva long way to fall

Your hate
I need that
Your emasculation
Fulfils me
Your unaccountabilty
Don't worry I'm responsible
That ***
I'm going to kiss that
That knife in my back
It's all good I can heal
Your pain and struggles
Blame it all on me

Alone, I am happy

          Convinced

            Will never be
Left
             Alone

Every smile I have ever faked
leaves a residue
of questions on my lips.
Asking,
“Why is it,
that this smile can’t be real?
Why is it,
that the world is so easily convinced by my lie?
Why don’t they try to break
this facade when they see it
in which I am trapped?”

Like the wind, she was cold.
All because she couldn't find a hand warm enough to hold.
She was convinced that the world hates her,
She believed that the world was so much colder.
She said she feels tired.
She said she's so done with the world and all it's liars.
She repeats everything she has said and done,
Without a word, nothing heard, she's gone.

"What are you even doing?"
I asked the boy in the mirror,
a recent friend
(and forever a mortal enemy).

"Trying.
And it's mental,
but we're getting getting there."

He sounded convinced.
I turned my head to the side,
his eyes followed mine,
glistening in the dim light.

"Are we a we?"
I asked him.

"No, you idiot,"
he replied, laughing.
"We're just you."

In an unguarded moment

I saw what it is, to not see myself.

The fogged up mirror

didn’t let my reflection reach me.

And what reached me was

just a picture colored out of lines.

The more I looked at my obscured face,

the more I was convinced

that the faces was not mine.

The more I was convinced of the face being a stranger’s,

more easier it was for me to love and accept it.

If I could see myself as someone else

how easier it would be to live my life.

Not knowing what I know about myself,

not knowing what I think.

To  be what I am and what I am not at the same time.

How easier it would be , if this is

what I saw in mirror everyday.

How beautiful can be not knowing, not seeing.

Only smudged shades of colors.

A face not mine.