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I feel like paper.
Paper, stretched tight, yet not supposed to tear.
I feel like a thin sheet of plastic. Holding together two ends of a chasm that is widening.
I feel like I could melt away, fall apart into microscopic pieces, self-combust, get swallowed up by the ground or in some other way escape into nonexistence.
I feel like a myriad of questions, questions and more questions. The lifeline on my hand looks like a big question mark. And answers are nowhere to be found.
I feel like cracked lips, salty and burning from an endless flow of tears. I feel like the kohl in my eyes, trying endlessly to hold on through a flood.
But I also feel like I'm going to get washed away anyway.
My mind is an endless swirl of black and grey. Light is playing tricks with me, hiding behind the worst of the dark.
Mesmerised, I try to find patterns in the black. The grey is smoke, drifting to who-knows-where, the grey is rainy clouds, about to pour on me.
The grey is your eyes, thought your eyes are a deep brown, the grey is your white-toothed smile.
Do you know how imperfect I am? Do you know my faults, my cracks, the heart I carry around in shreds?
Do you know how much you have to heal? How many questions you have to asnwer?
Answer me. I am the question.
Answer me. Complete my existence.
My mind and my heart feel empty. They are too full of torturous thoughts. Yet they're empty.
Fill them up. Make them look at each other and smile and agree with each other for once.
Make me dream. Show me the colours that are eluding me; make me see beyond the black and the mesmerising grey. Show me the brown of your eyes and the white gleam of your smile.
Show me a mirror that is not broken. Show me a perfect reflection of me, and make me believe that I am looking at myself.
Don't tell me that nobody's perfect, because that doesn't stop people expecting.
Pick up my pieces, glue them back together. I know they won't hold that way for long, but try. I may actually heal. I need to heal.
I need to breathe. I need to feel my own shallow heartbeat.
Love me. Know my pain and don't push me away; know my pain and show me the way. Tell me you'll be here, and don't break the oromise.
Broken promises hurt
like paper cuts.