Expressing myself has never been a skill
So as I fumble over the words
Puzzled confused eyes stare back at me
Through the cracked glass of the mirror.
If he can't understand, how can others?
Understanding isn't the goal
But merely a side objective.
What I really strive for, is to repair those eyes
Those sad, desperate eyes
Reminiscent of deep, dark pools
Sorrow and despair as plentiful as the tears.
Tears, like the Mississippi, continuously flowing
Through the crevasses and geography of the reflection's face.
I plead and beg for a drought
No end in sight.
Patience is a virtue, after all.
"Time heals all wounds."
Physical, maybe. Not the most important wounds.
The deep cuts, that reach to the very core.
So, hearing that tired, cliched expression
every fiber of my being silently screams
"*******."