Gazing into the mirror,
blotchy eyed, unkempt and exhausted
as dull light casts shadows,
framing my weary face,
as I search for any strength left in this aged reflection by recalling fearless days.

Adrift, all conviction is lost
yet, in my mind I still tread water,
as despair’s chill takes hold and I drown in torments deep depths,
each breath a heavyweight as I slowly sink under.

My heart remains guarded,
I count each fragile vulnerable beat
and I deeply pray for solace as frailty continuously snuffs out my spark.
The anxiety grips steadfastly to reality
and my self-esteem dissipates under this malady.

I cower from this fear,
I do not wish to die in calm solitude indoors
whilst the world outside seems like an impossible mountain to climb.
Why must my existence be reduced to nothing more than an imperfectly broken soul?

Because, this is not me…
This is not me at all.

Lizzie Bevis