Now that they’ve faded with every look in the mirror,
I can bear to look at myself.
I smudged the fog against the glass to hide the truth,
but even that could do no good.
The color of my eyes remain the same as yesterday,
just as the fear that’s burned into them.

My palms are dark and soaked with this fear,
always blinding me from ever seeing clear.
When I drag them down to my lips,
my fingers shut the screams within my every being.
Even in the midst of silence though,
my body is always yelling and echoing the pain.

The shades of my skin are ever-changing,
tracing stories that scarred onto the surface.
My nails pick at the pages, inked with anger.
Even as they disappear, it pinches into my veins.
It flows into my mind and out my heart,
bleeding every nightmare into a dream.

As I disguise this hope of mine,
I take the chance of withering down to bones.
In holding an ounce of something close,
I lose the pounds of my soul.
If I could be so bold, I would let go.
If I could be so bold, I would let them show.