I want to scream until my lungs give out,
collapse on the floor,
tear off this paper-thin smile
and spit out the lie of “romanticizing life.”
“It’s just you and me again,” I mutter,
staring at the mirror, a blank, colorless canvas.
Eyes hollow, face streaked with tears and a half-formed grin.
F*ck, you’re unbearable. I want to punch you so bad.
If I stop, is it release or just cowardice?
The thought drifts away like smoke.
I drag myself upright,
patching the cracks with silence,
fastening the mask once more.
The mirror waits,
its hollow twin whispering,
“If not you, then who?”
breath heavy, fingers trembling on the doorknob.
Feeding myself lies before stepping out.
“It’ll get better…” I promise myself
like a broken prayer
time and time
and time
again.