Who watches all the melting faces? Who pretends and who lies? If it’s not how I see me, it’s within how you all do.
A prayer in the night. This obsession with ancient walls and people who look like you. And I can only speak for myself. Not to say we will never lock eyes again-I see you everywhere. Yet we are so far away from truth.
A dangerous game in falling. The falling of three eyes and painted faces. Death to the mirrors. Tiny figures who press me into the the walls-the space between them where I hide. I watch them paint over their melting faces and place their jewels. I fear everything is falling. I cannot help but forget myself….
I see myself. Mind aching within the mirror. I think it goes away sometimes. Finds it wings and leaves me. And I am so lonely without it. I stand and all I see is the pain of loss of poetry. Yet that doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts as much as being without.
Our line is blurred from truth to falsity. I don’t understand which is me and which is you. I am abashed to say this love which seeps through walls and doors with locks is a mystery. I watch the shutters. They open and close and open. I invite you in. You lock me out. I…
It comes trickling and dancing from the places where we hide. I watch myself in the mirror as banishment overcomes me.
It shames me to realize all the wispy pieces of me that have fallen off. The gold bands and black creme smudged around the eyes. It all disintegrates. The one in the mirror. The only one. To write for me, for my subconscious to be released. This undoing of self, despite the hesitation. And not…