It's Late

By ,

It's late. Again my mind taunts me with seep thoughts and prayers. With the entire world spiraling, my own is crumbling beneath me, and that is all I care about. I look in the mirror and barely recognize who is staring back at me. The smile that is forced there, is a facad. You can see the rough underlines that lie just beneath the surface. You can see the cluttered mind in the eyes. Who is this person? My damn reflection is not me. Beneath the exterior, the mask, there is someone screaming to be free. Clawing at my insides fighting to breath. But, there is a problem. I do not know who this person is.


See, all I can see, all anyone can see, is the fake standing before them. The outer shell of a person who does not know who they are. The sad truth, I may never know. They may never know. Because, even though I can feel the urge and pull of what is inside me, I do not know it. Sometimes I do get a glance of what once was. A happy child who was so excited for the world. And got a second I feel warm. It's as if that child is holding my hand, telling me it's ok. You're not alone. I will always be here. Then they fade. And I see the lie again.


It's very late. My mind tumbles through negativity and hope. My skin crawls from a call so small I barely acknowledge it. It's me. Screaming from the inside.






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