C'est La Vie

Who is she?

I sometimes wonder where it all started,
where the innate need to be desired
became the cold air in my every shaky breath,
keeping my heart beating just enough.
is it the ghost in the mirror with its sickening grin,
a reflection I no longer recognize.
Does she crave validation at the hands of those who've hurt her?
Does she love to be hurt?
The bruises on her heart painted like a work of art,
When did my reflection become her and not me?
Tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes,
The color in her skin slowly disappearing,
Her wide ocean eyes no longer of crashing, glistening waves but of hidden storms.
Each rise and fall of her chest becoming shorter, losing purpose
Who is she?
But me?
Perhaps she wants to fix him because she can't fix herself,
Perhaps she craves love and validation because she feels none for herself,
Maybe the worst part of it all is the girl in the mirror won't ever be fixed,
until I wipe off the foggy glass,
and give her the love she desires from the world.
I'll never know where it started,
but I know I'm the only one who can make it end.