May 27

Mirrors

Her eyes softly close,
Her lips are red and bitten raw
From hours of debating with herself.
She runs a finger slowly over her bottom lip,
Trying to remember how he had felt.
The mirror she looks into reflects her image
but is cracked in places,
the kind of broken that isn't
"Let's-patch-this-up-with-some-duct-tape-and-good-luck" 
The kind of broken that is
'My-feet-feel-like-cement-and-my-lungs-feel-like-iron."
About the Author: lila woodard
'But to make yourself feel nothing - so as not to feel anything - what a waste!' - Andre Aciman, Call Me By Your Name
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