A picture on a page
In it -at my eyes- they all seem to gaze
The 'me' I see in the mirror
Seems unworthy of all their praise.
- Why?
This hungry heart wishes to believe them
But words of past dominantly in my ears remain
And so with a reality amassed from all my yesterdays
In a quite stupor,
I try to hide and heal my redundant pains.
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