What I wear

-
Look in the mirror
and I recoil from what I see.
Pitted and scarred, ash streaked
from the death of a hundred dreams.
I run, stumble away,
from the instrument of
my torture. An honest reflection.
I try to hide from my own eyes in a mask.
But, to my horror, I see,
proof that is inescapable,
that this ugliness is my destiny,
the mask I wear is just as broken as me.

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