Dirty Pillow.

My pillow is stained with blackness.

Mascara drips from my face in form of drops of salty water that don’t taste very good. 

My pillow is the only witness of the pain inside my heart.

My pillow befriended me and now watches as I lay awake in the middle of the night. 

Even though It’s stains haunt me, it still gives me cushion at night. 

It still holds my head while my bed shakes slowly with the rhythm of my hurt.

Lets just say my pillow is dirty. It’s got mascara everywhere but It’s still doing It’s job. 

And when I’m done feeling pain tonight, I’ll wake up in the morning with a smile on my face. 

I’ll wash my face and remove the pillowcase. 

Because my pillow is just like me. 

It’s not okay tonight, but tomorrow.

Tomorrow it will be okay.

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