buried beneath her smiles, silenced by her own laughter, and hidden behind her dark, reflective eyes is a monotonous mass that weighs heavy inside.
what more can she do to keep herself light? to seem as though unbothered by the relentless tedium of reality?
she is alone.
in front of a mirror, yet all she sees is a wall and its morbid blankness staring back at her, mocking her, pushing itself into her solitary space. she can’t stop looking. she doesn’t feel the urge to back away but feels the need to stay closer.
she is a hypocrite. her existence in this world is a hypocrisy to the reality that her mind is. a hypocrisy to the soul that she bears, burdensome. and this weight that belongs to her, incessantly present, had once convinced her of hurt and melancholy. words that are nothing more than the words that they are, used to simplify the abysmal hole left buried beneath her smiles, silenced by her own laughter, and hidden behind her dark, reflective eyes.