A Mirror's Tale

Back to the dark stuff. Metaphors-what do I see?

Bold, underlined, italicized-
sleepless manic nights gleam in seas of dark brown.
Within,
muddled by anger, depression,
lie a cry for freedom…
release…
from the husk her soul is trapped within.

Battle scars-
fighting for her life.
The enemy was,
still is,
unrelenting.
A nasty son of a b***h.
She’s merely found new weapons;
weapons leaving scars elsewhere.
On her lungs,
soul,
psyche,
rather than her flesh.

Fractures,
chemical burns.
When she’s truly naked,
When she stands before the glass,
the walls crumble,
the tears begin to falls.
She can see what bred the shell of a creature…she’s become.
She’s no longer human;
she’s long not been.

The fractures and burns exposed her heart;
it took the abuse.
She fronted callousness,
feigned rolled eyes,
smirks. 
All of it hurt at first. 
It hardened her heart;
the blows, caustic words, acid spit.
It became normal.
It didn’t hurt anymore.
Her heart blackened.
Her heart died.

A logical creature, emotionally inept.
She shatters alone,
save her own reflection mocking her in the mirror.
She processes nothing,
seeing only the shards of a broken woman.
She can’t-
never will-
be able to piece herself back together.