You lie, but the mirror doesn’t

Poem

How insidious and terrifying the object beating within my ribs You still desire what haunted you, haunts you You despise ecstasy and want to circulate within me irrationality, gloom and your own doom You love merely your blurred reflection in the ripples you form when you throw parts of your soul into the very river you cried You don't love your apparition, you don't love your shadows and silhouettes, only because that's the truth, the apparent, the only truth You love how others see you, not your true form You're only just a shapeshifter to them from the deep dark gallows on the Island of fallen kings When will you fall in love with what you see in the mirror, underneath the clothes and the skin?

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Posted Sep 3, 2022, 12:04 AM UTC

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