I wipe the fog off the mirror with my hand,
The frailty in my knees makes it hard to stand,
The blurry bathroom lights impale my eyes,
The water strips me of my perfect disguise.
My skin, red with rage, for the absence of my care,
As I try washing off what isn’t even there.
My body curses me for being plagued with these scars,
Some carved by blades, and some by smoldering cigars.
I breathe and breathe as I run out of air,
‘til all I can see is darkness and fear,
I call out for help but suddenly remember the evil,
That hell isn’t a place, it’s other people.