#FromOneLine #prompt 157

There was nothing before
The rundown mirror
Just a tired reflection
Of bored, dying eyes
That I chose to ignore
Instead, I imagined the grays
Were flecks of silver rain
The sagging skin, all the hills
I climbed with gleeful leaps
The weariness is just a facade
To hide joy from prying eyes
And so I believed all the lies
That my image was a disguise

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