Doin’ Good

Expectaitons are made to be broken. Hopeful dreams fly high, only to be stripped of their wings. Stained by dark thoughts, laid waste by cutting remarks. Imprisoned by our thoughts, cell doors locked with keys hidden in bloodstained hands. Gazing into a mirror darkly, each anxious breath a ripple that shifts the image ever so slightly. Heavy is the head wearing the mask, clutching strips of truth, anxiously swallowing hollow words. “Hello. How are you?” “I’m doing good.”