Empty silhouettes gather around
my footsteps sweeping me in the
current of what's expected of me.

I'm not a reflection of you, no matter
the pressures, pushing me into a tide
of despair, I'm going under do you care.

Collecting my discomfort, I etch it word
for word. Anxiety drains from my wrists
flowing within each syllable, scaring paper.

Ill never be a perfect copy of your footsteps,
drained of self, I'm a fractured reflection.
I'm tired, I need to be a reflection of me.