A mountain it growing in my
trash can.
Made of tissues and tears.
Why aren’t they happy with
how I am?
They don’t even notice any of
my fears.
All my anger, all my sorrow,
From yesterday and today,
And maybe even more tomorrow.
My eyes overflowing,
Alone here in my room,
No one else even knowing.
How dark is my gloom.
The tears take away some of
the pain,
And everything I’m going
through,
Though my heart’s stain,
Isn’t scrubbed off by the
tissue.
It starts off so pure and
white,
So smooth and creaseless,
Until I freshen my sight,
It then becomes a mess.
With all the other sadness,
It’s tossed into the can,
Along with all the rest,
Piling to a mountain.
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