When I look in the mirror
I see a shattered soul
One with open wounds
Broken wings
And regret stuck on one's lips
Eyes filled with experience that haunts
Knives stuck in one's back with sorrow leaking out
Vulnerability...
But why can't others see this ?
Is it because the skin worn ,
Or the persuasion spoken ,
The way one moved or presented ?
But around 3 AM ;
This fragmented soul was electric ;
Temporarily repaired
And loved
Though never complete
Aching for love mostly mistaken for lust
This demolished soul longed for some trust...
