She.

Has it all.

From the scroll.

Of my Instagram.

Pictures of love.

And bliss.

She.

Is perfect.

But what my eyes.

Fail to see.

Is the masquerade.

Of her pain and hurt.

Her pillow case.

Covered with tear stains.

And mascara.

Tossing and turning.

Because anxiety.

Has overtaken her.

She.

Wakes up.

In the night.

Sitting.

On the bathroom floor.

With memories.

Of yesterday.

Morning comes.

She.

Faces the woman.

In the mirror.

Only to cover.

Her again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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