The Mess of the Interior

This is what it feels like to break down.
There’s a weight in my chest that makes living difficult.
I see myself in the mirror
but I can’t recognize the expression.
There’s a depth behind these eyes,
green pools of sorrow.

I’m waiting for someone to look for me,
squeeze me until it’s clear
that we’re genuine,
and know the maze of my mind.
Help me pick up my fragile pieces
and I’ll give you the world’s contentment.

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One thought on “The Mess of the Interior

  1. here I am, enjoyed your poetry treat..

    love your blog, your poetry is impressive!
    Make a contribution to us today, the collection is to be closed within 24 hours.
    Thanks, we value your support. xxx

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