You woke up again with crusted eyes.
Strands of hair hugging the cheek on the right.
Walking slowly, lacking a purpose
Glancing at yourself in the mirror belonging to others
Squeezing in to fit in the cast, stiff and tight.
Hearing your name called out many times.
Some you knew, others you wished did.
Blending in was what mattered the most.
Amongst the whites and reds of the halls
Not knowing even in mediocrity we all walk differently,
Unique to the stories we tell ourselves.
Before bed at night
Wetting the pillow with tears so quiet
When the day blends into the night.
Black Coffee and Grey Stories 