Self-Reflection
Her tears are squandered waters,
like blood shed from an innocent man.
If misery was to be defined
It would be her bareness covered with garments.
She fantasizes in colors
But her realities are in black and white
As if to say her existence is tedious.
She adjured the heavens to eradicate her
For she was worn out from breathing unfiltered air.
It came over her,
like a woman enthralled by a thousand demons.
She would grip her lips
In order to keep her sanity.
And when she least anticipated
she would fall down on her knees
with blood gushing from her mouth.
She glanced at the mirror
And at that moment, she realized
she was her own executor.
Copyright © Clara Alao | Year Posted 2020
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