Weight of Words

Recurrent

Hazel blood rimmed eyes staring back at me.
A pale glow from the woman I once recognized as me.

Someone who forgot to tell herself pain doesn't have to become a scar, but those words sadly never made it this far.

The things that haunt her and keep her awake. All the weight she carries, knowing she will some day break.

"Failure is a bruise, not a tattoo."
Yet, that pain from the needle is something she's addicted too.

Art visible for anyone to see, each one with hidden meaning..because she needed that painful release.

She suffers from unrequited self love.
Something hard to understand,
if there's even anyone out there that does.

Is the writing healing or destroying?
It's all high and mostly low, but full of disappointing.

Easy to hide when there is no light.
Easy to remain out of sight.

Yet the idea of being seen comes to taunt,
Confused thoughts written in jumbled fonts.

There's so much in this world that's ugly.
It fades and blurs everything of beauty.

Much like herself..
There's silence that's peaceful,
but the thoughts are so loud.

It's after 5pm...
It's now acceptable to drink.
Not that 8am wouldn't have
looked a lot like 5pm to me today.