Hitting

Hitting the lowest, words that fall into emptiness, those that come from a lonely heart.
Hitting tears that roll down until they burst and explode.
Hitting shadows that transforms the sighting, blocking the sun's path, mocking you, mocking me.
Bruises, scars, a masquerade dance, to sweep around.
A story that might be as mine as it's yours.
Hitting reflection from a mirror that hangs from the frame of history.
Things don't chage, they just keep comming back like a pattern, like a nightmare