There is a woman in the mirror
she smiles and laughs with ease.
The image is me?
Will she ever find love again?
Does she even want to?
I find little comfort in these questions.
I want to make the woman frown,
become aware of her prison
SCREAM and break the mirror.
We no longer have love to keep us warm.
But she just keeps smiling.
And I'm left to deal with the emptiness
and the constant questions.
When will someone see
the cruelty winding inside
of this shell
of this smiling woman
of this facade
of me?
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