Sad Labels:
apathy
,
love
,
retrospect
do I know you? she asked. from her side of the mirror.
which of us is the reflection? the other one wondered.
there's no real difference. the glass professed.
dud matchsticks. that refuse to ignite. torn treasure maps. for sunken islands.
when was I here? she questioned. asleep in the folds of her obsession. ugly little duckling. mortgaged to the cost of its feathers.
how thin is the edge. the friction of ghosts. fatally agile. against the haunt of surrender. the delicate moan of submission. scrapes hard. through. the viscous treason of when.
All my voices betray. The slick of distance convinces angels. Broken ribbons and hollow boxes. Are a stairway to heaven. All my faces are only reflection. Fat parasites gorging on a stale feast of flesh.
wide awake. alive in the impotence of her rage. used matchsticks. pretending the fire.
Mirror. Mirror. She whispers.
Am I there yet?
there's no real difference. the glass professed.
dud matchsticks. that refuse to ignite. torn treasure maps. for sunken islands.
when was I here? she questioned. asleep in the folds of her obsession. ugly little duckling. mortgaged to the cost of its feathers.
how thin is the edge. the friction of ghosts. fatally agile. against the haunt of surrender. the delicate moan of submission. scrapes hard. through. the viscous treason of when.
All my voices betray. The slick of distance convinces angels. Broken ribbons and hollow boxes. Are a stairway to heaven. All my faces are only reflection. Fat parasites gorging on a stale feast of flesh.
wide awake. alive in the impotence of her rage. used matchsticks. pretending the fire.
Mirror. Mirror. She whispers.
Am I there yet?