you’re tired.
your knees are sick of having to lift the weight of your body off the floor time and time again.
they never rest.
just when you think you’ve stood up straight.
just when you think you’ve improved your posture.
at the exact moment you actually feel taller – you’re thrown right back down.

you’re hurt.
your hands are cut up from those fragments, the broken pieces you find yourself dusting into a pile time and time again.
sometimes you try to grab them as they fall. but you’ve learned not to try and reach them before they land.

you’re weak.
your eyes cannot strain any longer. everything’s so blurry.
your eyes want to close.
the light has dimmed so much and yet, you keep staring at the pieces.
trying to glue them together just right. trying to make them seem like they were never broken.

each time.
each and every time you go through this; cutting your hands on those pieces, pulling yourself up off the floor and trying to put it all back together again – piece by piece. only to realize, you don’t remember what you started with.

this unbroken work of art you’ve hurt yourself over, lost sleep over – this masterpiece you’ve been killing yourself for day in and day out, over and over again – it’s unrecognizable.
all that remains is a tired, weak and broken fragment of whatever once was.
the pieces don’t fit together.
some are missing, most are damaged.
all are irreplicable.

whatever it was, whoever you were – you’ll never be again.
that girl, with flawless skin and the thrill of life in her eyes.
she’s gone.

  • The Dalema. December 8, 2016.
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