Miasma.

Usually don’t post poetry, but here goes my first. Good read

Genieslamp

You stand before the mirror.
You barely recognize the person you see.
It all comes rushing back to you.
How it was all too much and you felt choked; and you cried the tears that your pillow willingly soaked.
How you donned a mask and made everyone think you could smile;
How you wanted to crawl on your knees till the flesh that covered them bruised and bled;
How you wanted to cry on a lonely beach till your tears turned to blood;
How you felt like a weak horse taken to the river; and how the water, like quinine was too bitter;
How you wanted to bash your aching head against the white, bathroom tiles till blood splattered and stained them.
How you felt worse because suicide was a cowardly way out.
You had forgotten how to smile and the corners of your mouth hurt when you tried to.

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