Looking Through The Crack in The Silver

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How can I write when I can't even speak my words correctly?
How can I feel the rhythm of the piece while my bones and thoughts quiver?
There's nothing that is causing the pain when I look into the mirror.
There is nothing I can see that will put the pieces of me back together.
Perfectly, my blood flows through my veins,
Yet I can't seem to reason with the reflection in the silver.
I should feel less pressure, less blue within.
But yet all I dream is the ending again,
I'm proud of how far I've got,
I'm proud of me moving on and on.

But my demons travel with me.

And my shadow has learned to walk in front of me.

When will I marry myself again, when will I walk and carry my weight again?
Will I ever pass these feelings for something better?
Will I be able to drive fast, with the wind blowing in my hair, without a doubt in my mind that I deserve well, and to be cared for?
Will I ever look in the mirror and be excited for tomorrow? To see what daylight brings and takes away?
Or am I damned for life, begging myself to breath, attempting to succumb to the sadness each day?

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