Out of My Hands

28 May

I want to scream,
Rip the flesh from my bones,
And get out of this body,
That does not feel like my home.

I look in the mirror,
And see a version of me.
She is an imposter,
My worst enemy.

I don’t want to think.
I don’t want to feel.
So I reached out to cut her,
But only hurt what was real.

The anger and frustration,
Along with the confusion and despair,
Filled every part of my being,
As I dropped to my knees gasping for air.

There are no words that provide comfort,
Nor is there help to soothe my soul.
I am now vacant and bare.
For this hollowness has taken control.

.

.

H. Hassenbein

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