Destroyed and shattered. Hated and dispised by myself. That’s who I am, that’s my shield, that’s my pain. I’d rather die than exposing who I am, I’d strangle myself before letting the world know about me.
I’ll go far, I’ll run, and I know I will be chased, and I’ll run faster than ever. I’m scared. This is not me anymore. I look in the mirror and don’t recognize me anymore. I never wanted this for me.
I look at the reflection of myself, and the mirror is my friend, the mirror knows not to fake, the mirror knows how often I have cried before I tried putting my happiest smile on.
My mirror knows, when I fell down on the dirty floor, my mirror knows how I felt, my mirror knows when I started to tremble and shake like crazy. It knows when my lips turned blue and my eyes turned red.
And it knows my pigment, it knows my naked truth, it has seen me in nothing, but myself. And many times, I still had my clothes on. It’s not about nakedness, but the ugly naked truth.
Took too many chances, took to many ways that lead me to death and opened up the gates of hell. It’s a torture. It’s pain and it’s hate. It’s the vomit of all the lies I have been telling to myself, claiming to be the happiest woman alive.
I’m lost and I’m helpless, I stand up with the little force I have and punch in the mirror. This stupid mirror. Always pretends to know me, always thinks to be me. This mirror is nothing but a deluded perception of myself.
Another night gone sleepless, another night spent crying. Another night picking up the mirror pieces and cutting my flesh open, letting the blood take it’s paths on my washroom floor.