Thursday, 13 August 2015

The Mirror

Looking in the mirror,
I see me as I am.
I see the same picture,
though I want to be a man.

Whenever I move it moves,
it's just a reflection of truth.
Another reality behind glass,
staring right back at you.

I lift my hand,
It lifts it's hand.
Of course it would,
It's just me as glass
I wonder if it can feel,
It couldn't be that real.
what if I punched it,
would only my knuckles bleed?

Does it also have a beating heart,
could it also hear the speaking stars?
Does it have a creeping tower shadow,
questions as I look down at the bleeding shards

Just glass stuck in my knuckles,
and if I look closely,
my reflection seems to chuckle.
Is it just my mind playing tricks,
like when I thought my love would hold me?

And then I slowly find the answer,
it is just another plague like cancer.
The illusion of wanting, the haunting desire,
the devil's tools to make time go faster.
My mind can't break the barrier of reality,
and my heart is drowning in love's cage.
Trapped and imprisoned because of my fallacies,
and it seems I've carved out my doomed fate.















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