caught somewhere in between
the warring sides of myself
there is a duality, a mirror
conflicting sides of a whole
the difference between me and me
and the faces I wear through the day
are beginning to blur in my vision
and in the lines across my face
I am empty so often these days
wearing the mask of strength
I’ve worn it so often, for so long
I’d forgotten what lay underneath
I’ve gone so long without feeling
without allowing anyone in
that my heart had begun to atrophy
internally turning to dust
behind that measured wall of strength
behind the proverbial mask
is a tiny little pulp of a heart
with traces of blood-stained hands
I don’t know which side is me anymore
the strong or the broken shell
I live constantly in the reflection
the duality of my soul
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