She

She simply makes me want to tear my hair out

At the sound of her nasally cold voice in my ear,

Signifying her anxiety at every little insignificant thing.

 

She makes me want to scream like an animal

At her pathetic, listless demeanor suggesting,

That she is already dead to all on the inside.

 

She makes me want to beat down the walls

At her guarded language with others, believing

It’s better to keep everyone out than the potential pain.

 

She makes me want to shatter the mirror into pieces

At the sight of her eyes staring back into mine,

Knowing the monsters get the better of us both.

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