It breaks down all of the time.
How am I suppose to love something that is always betraying me?
My hands stab–
myself in the back
that breaks with each thrust of the blade.
My legs give–
under the weight of my world
and my own problems.
My face, morphing–
a stranger stares back at me,
“who the fuck are you?” I scream
with tears running down,
but the face doesn’t make one single sound.
I don’t make a sound.