Hell is a mirror

Some days,
Just looking at myself,
Feels like Hell.

No flames,
No brimstone,
Just this quiet,
Slow suffocation,
Of seeing what I’ve become,
When there’s no one left to love me,
Through the fog.

I strip the world away,
No job,
No drugs,
No joy,
No “I’m okay” masks left to wear,
Just me.
And it’s unbearable.

There’s a face in the mirror,
I don’t recognize.
Not because it’s aged,
Or tired,
But because it’s empty.
A shell wearing skin,
Holding guilt in its gut,
Like swallowed gum.

I try to dig through the layers,
My job,
My love,
My self.
Well…
The echo of who myself once was.
But every layer is another lie,
I told myself,
To survive.

And still, I keep peeling.

Every glance,
A stab.
Every silence,
A scream.
No one’s there though.
I’m just haunted,
By the version of myself,
I thought was good.
The man I was,
Before I let her down.

Hell isn’t a place.
It’s a moment,
When all the pretending stops,
And the truth?
The truth,
Stands,
Naked,
Mercilessly in front of you.

It’s looking in the mirror,
And realizing,
There’s no one left to blame.
No one left to save you.
No love left to hide behind.

Only you.
Only the shell.
Only the question…
Who am I now that I’m alone with myself?
The mirror,
never answers.