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Writer's pictureBri Gallagher

Daily Ritual

The sun seeps slowly through

Transparent glass windows,

A debate commencing

Between myself and I

About departing from my

Blanketed sanctuary.

Relenting, I let out an

Exasperated huff,

Throwing myself out of safety

And into the unknown

Of the day.

I rub away the remnants of sleep

From my long empty eyes,

Savoring the ash from

A long burning fire that had

Finally gone out.

I opened the door of

My wardrobe,

The rusted metal handle rough

Against my hollow fingers.

I had a wide selection

Of finely woven masks

To choose from,

I could be bubbly and bouncy today,

Or I could be calm and collected;

Or I could just be content today.

Yeah, I think I will just be

Content today.

I gaze at myself

In the mirror,

A blackened and empty void

Amidst a sea of wasted potential.

Not wanting to linger on

What is already known to me,

I slip the mask into place.

I tighten the screws and clamps

Extra tight

Before I look up again.

If only I could mold this mask

Into my actual face.

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