You stink.

You stink.
You smell like rotten dreams, festering in a corner somewhere
Dirty little truths and half eaten lies that have never seen the light of day.
You smell like regret, boisterous and vile, like degrading expectations molding over from the wetness of your tears
You wreak of solitude
You try to mask it over with an air of superiority
Hoping no one notices the foul stench emanating from your soul.
You smell of death, the death of a happiness
You cling on to its bones in the hopes it might reanimate again.
Get clean.
Throw out all that garbage from the byways of your mind, those pretty catalogs of what it was supposed to be like.
Break free. Stop being an emotional hoarder. Because until you do, everything you do, will continue
To cause you
To stink.