empty lines


the lines around my eyes 
depict the happiness 
that once graced my porcelain 
now, they’re hollow effigies –
of symphonies 
that no longer echo 
their chords 
carried by the breeze, 
instead absorbed 
by melancholies mist 

lips still upturn 
in a smile-like poise 
but lack the grace 
of bliss 
that hums of ecstasy 
euphoria, a distant whisper 
that can only be heard 
in the depths of lungs 
that won’t exhale elation 
when sorrow’s smoke suffocates
leaving solitude to swallow the soul 

every time i look in the mirror 
all I see are the pleasures of the past 
and the scars of the present 
that leave the lines upon my face 

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