In my mirror the Sunday woman appears like a cloud of darkness. In the temple of the Lord I see her wrenching my new found manhood like the rag that washes her sin stained skin. I see tears of blood flowing from the windows of my soul, flowing from the deepest corners of my young blackened heart. My dreams and life being beaten by the woman who holds my future. As she circles my soul. In my mirror. In my mirror, my Father, a store, the knife staring at me like the death that I refuse to accept as fate handed down. I see the steel that pierces through the center of my creator's brief existence. I see the red liquid that feeds his hopes, desires, and ambitions flowing out of his life. Into a world of darkness. Into a world of silence. As he embraces me. In my mirror. In my mirror, the two men follow me like shadows embracing Hate and Misery. Rising from the depths of hell they penetrate my existence into my tortured soul. With every thrust Hate surrounds me clutching my life for Misery to devour. I see Hate and Misery leaving me to drown and die within my own fears. Hate and Misery continue to hide and wait for me in the shadows of my soul. In my miiror.
Reason for writing:
I wrote this poem to help my self understand why I hate
looking in the mirror. Its because not only do I see my
reflection of my body, but I see the reflection of my soul
and everything that has ever happened to me. Looks come and
go but pain is forever.
Birth sign: Not entered
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