you are not the first
to lie to the mirror
your reflection revealing what you are
before you can avert your gaze.
i know your mistake and
she has my eyes
and she is standing where you left her.

she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

and within the injury is contained the insult
of such simple dreams
composed of affection without artifice
that my heart aches when morning comes.

this inevitable hell
is the one i’ve created
without hesitation
or armor
sweetly smiling
while the blood stains the ground
beneath my feet.
there is so little of me left
i let you take everything.

i am a stupid fool.



in the last part of the day
as the sun burns itself out on the horizon
there is a strange silence
a peace amid the chaos
the wind swirls the leaves
into rattling whirlpools
each gust a sigh
an exhalation of resignation:
i can move past this
past all that was never real.
i don’t want to leave this place
i still see the ghosts
of what could have been
drifting over the sand
composed of the bones
of fragile creatures
delicate as a wrist
they shatter under the weight of reality.
i am ruled by the pull of this strange
animal heart
but i am so tired.
the ache has not faded
as it should.

i don’t know what to do.