Black Lake
Only
a
few
people
in your lifetime
are truly comfortable letting you be yourself.
All the others treat you like an instrument to be played and played with.
A thing that needs to be changed
into a form they want you to be.
Into a watered-down reflection of themselves.
A tool to be used for their comfort.
While trapping you in a claustrophobic form.
A stiff plastic face staring from the bottom of a cold black lake.
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