Eyes that always seem to tell a greater story
than a voice could ever speak.
Lips that are trained to smile
and that almost only move with words that bring pain.
Pale face that gives off a look of desperation and need.
Chest that is a cage...a tomb for a beating heart.
Beating, but not alive.
Arms that have held the world (my world) in a gentle embrace.
Hands that lust to be woven with the interlocking fingers of another.
Knees that tremble, barley able to support the brokenness
that is so heavily barred upon the body above them.
Feet that desire to leave,
but always seem to be glued to the ground beneath me.
Is this really me?
Is this what ive become?
Is a mirror able to lie?