You stare into the mirror.
You see something ugly staring back at you.
You see the physical scars.
They just remind you of the inflicted
The wounds that still haunt you.
You see the fear that resides in your
Your cracked and crumbling heart.
The tears begin to well up in your eyes
You close your eyes tight.
You do not want to face the pain that
still wounds you.
It's just not going away.
It is just as intense as ever.
Tearing your soul to shreds.
With a tightly clenched fist you smash the
Your view now refracted.
But that ugly non-person is still there.
You scream, but they just come out silent.
The hurt now turns to rage.
Rage is fueled by hate.
And increases your suffering.
It's just not fair, you think to yourself.
You did not ask for any of this.
"Then why is all this happening?" You think
Only silence follows.
You can still see the old tear stains.
You are filled with shame.
You just do not understand.
You wonder if you even matter.
What is the point of your existence.
"Why?" Is all you can say.
SCOTT DAVID BUCKLEY