In the mirror
Is an image of me:
A snapshot of today’s back lot
Where my features try to park
In between lines
That have been singed by time,
And counter signed.
Behind my face,
The face of one who has serially killed
Themself for twenty years,
Is another projection of
Me, another reflection
Bouncing back from the gristle and skin,
And detaching itself;
Peeling from the feelings that
Have bombarded into it,
And imparted
Nothing.
My sinews to you have snapped,
Synapses crashed,
Circuits fried;
Wires tied in differently coloured knots
Are clotted,
And as the awning of my judgement
Pushes itself away from me
I am revealed.
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