These tears…
I will take a hard look at my soul once am done crying, I will wipe the tears off and I will reconcile with the person that lives there in. she has been summoning and I have been ignoring.
It has come to this, tears and alcohol. Just what the witchdoctor prescribed. I have been to a soothsayer too and she did not stop the flow either.
I am a master at keeping appearances but the mastery of it weighs heavily on me. In privacy as I recount the days acts it haunts and mocks me incessantly.
I do not know when my dreams faded, perhaps I cannot see clearly through the tears. But there are no traces of them left- nothing to hold on to.
This is how I can be defined now; cool suffering, a yearning larking at the surface begging for release.
The mirror reflects a different being too, the warm glaze seen in daylight gone by night before re-appearing the following day. It takes sheer will to reproduce more for the world to see, to keep me all patched up and together. But I am running threadbare. I can feel it.
Am almost out of my tears ration, it is unjust to be denied even that. These tears have been my release, my outlet.
What will I do when I finally run out?
