Even the mirror tells her..
When she swallows the morning light on her face
And bits of her tiny lies glow like fireflies.
But the sadness is, they don’t move.
So when she sees herself every day, they greet her with a teething pain. Circles of catfishes over her face. Pulling her hair inside an ocean, where black oil churns.
She bends, to hide her face, to remember..
What she started out with and then she collapses.
Like a mud house.
Reeling over things, that never came true.