We live our lives through reflections,
see our guilt mirrored in glass eyes
and shatter into tiny pieces impossible
to glue back together. But we try. I tried.
The death of my mother made me question
love, suicide, life, death and sanity.
On the way, I studied words in my own
personal hell before realising that above
everything else, I failed her. And so, I end my
inferno with an answer to a question none
of us are brave enough to ask…
…broken will always be broken.
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