"Do you ever regret surviving?"

something I frequently ask

to a scarred and damaged woman

in the back of a tainted head

she weeps all night endlessly

oh how she loathes herself

her broken heart has rigid edges

and cuts all hands who dare to hold her

     "Do you regret the path you chose, or rather that chose you?"

it makes me wish that I could die

and in my head, I was almost killed for that

it strangled me, that will to die

and I let it for so long

but how could I go 

and let it choke

the only one who loves me?

     "Is it hard to see her in the mirror?"

it depends on who you mean

I remain confused if who I see is my monster

Is she me?

     In jubilation are my jumbled thoughts 

inside my jagged jungle mind

but, these questions never leave my head 

only the sorely mistaken phrase

I.

Am.

Fine.