she gives in to temptation
to the pain
shut her mind to reason
to forget for a while
and take off her mask
but the bliss was over too fast
the voice in her head
screams and laughs
for the guilt is creeping in
and the face in the mirror
(the one she desperately wants to be)
slowly fades
until all that was left is her own


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Little Fears

Tales of whimsy, humor and courgettes

unbolt me

the literary asylum

The Bipolar Writer

James Edgar Skye

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