A snippet of a writing of mine.

I scrub my skin twice a day now
But I still feel unclean
Bury my head in the sand, my face in my hands
Watching the steam roll off my body, thinking

Surely this cannot be the end
This can’t be the end of my story

I’ve been cloudin’ up my head with smoke
Trying to gain some clarity
And step into my sanctuary

I’ve been livin’ in the same old skin my whole life
But it still crawls when I look in the mirror
Because my eyes don’t recognize themselves
Sure, I’m older, my features are bolder
But I often stare in the mirror
Trying to remember who I am

My eyes don’t recognize themselves anymore
So much is different, yet it’s all the same
They look upon the pain, hidden in the grey

They tell the stories that are written within
Recounting aloud the story of a life
Lived and lost