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Description
Rusted reflection
I never liked the mirror
Vanity, like a veil of lace
Never suited my dirty hands.
My face of uncertainty.
It doesn't matter anyway.
No need to obsess over the unobtainable.
The airbrushed beauty of the world.
Everything is prettier through lenses and filters,
real ugliness can be felt with your fingers.
So my hands are victim to stillness and remorse.
I mustn't try and look any deeper into this
Copper water. Broken wishing well dreams...
I have found the place where they go.
I have dwelt in their sorrows as I have dwelt in my own.
This place suites me.
This gray.
In between.
Whisper of darkness before a hint of light.
It is eternity,
listen
creeping by.
My eyes, like pieces of broken glass are empty.
My soul, without the mirror casts no reflection.
Walks to nothingness within me.
It is a void not easily avoided.
It is a place too frightening to see.
The reason I'm often afraid to dream.
Your face is the only thing worth the bittersweet taste I wake with.
The rest of this insanity is a broken outlet.
So I'm left with nothing from these images but confusion.
Disillusion, desperation, de fusion and at last breath....
The morning is always so cold and grimy without a warm body neath the sheets.
It is desolation when my fingers and the emptiness meet.
They are lasting rivalries.
Always the latter with more power.
Always the first to be devoured.
Poor; dear digits longing,
for your flesh belonging
beneath and surrounding.
Piece of a dream I found.
Isn't it lovely?
Like without mirrors me...?
Like girl with her own wings..
Thought too sweet to be?
One day maybe, if I'm without you.
When chains of longing becoming captive links of insanity.
Binding me, burning, Blinding me.
Into embers of forever, of nothing and never that I'll ever be.
Like I said but a dream...
The reality is me, sitting before these words.
Expression, emotion, pain and devotion
For you no less could fill the space that I taste between us,
even when you are near.
Here, head upon my bust.
Still, what is time if I could spend but a bit of it with you?
What is loneliness without a few moments when you make me forget?
Rusted reflection.
I never liked the mirror much.
It reminded me of your touch.
Empty.

Description
Rusted reflection
I never liked the mirror
Vanity, like a veil of lace
Never suited my dirty hands.
My face of uncertainty.
It doesn't matter anyway.
No need to obsess over the unobtainable.
The airbrushed beauty of the world.
Everything is prettier through lenses and filters,
real ugliness can be felt with your fingers.
So my hands are victim to stillness and remorse.
I mustn't try and look any deeper into this
Copper water. Broken wishing well dreams...
I have found the place where they go.
I have dwelt in their sorrows as I have dwelt in my own.
This place suites me.
This gray.
In between.
Whisper of darkness before a hint of light.
It is eternity,
listen
creeping by.
My eyes, like pieces of broken glass are empty.
My soul, without the mirror casts no reflection.
Walks to nothingness within me.
It is a void not easily avoided.
It is a place too frightening to see.
The reason I'm often afraid to dream.
Your face is the only thing worth the bittersweet taste I wake with.
The rest of this insanity is a broken outlet.
So I'm left with nothing from these images but confusion.
Disillusion, desperation, de fusion and at last breath....
The morning is always so cold and grimy without a warm body neath the sheets.
It is desolation when my fingers and the emptiness meet.
They are lasting rivalries.
Always the latter with more power.
Always the first to be devoured.
Poor; dear digits longing,
for your flesh belonging
beneath and surrounding.
Piece of a dream I found.
Isn't it lovely?
Like without mirrors me...?
Like girl with her own wings..
Thought too sweet to be?
One day maybe, if I'm without you.
When chains of longing becoming captive links of insanity.
Binding me, burning, Blinding me.
Into embers of forever, of nothing and never that I'll ever be.
Like I said but a dream...
The reality is me, sitting before these words.
Expression, emotion, pain and devotion
For you no less could fill the space that I taste between us,
even when you are near.
Here, head upon my bust.
Still, what is time if I could spend but a bit of it with you?
What is loneliness without a few moments when you make me forget?
Rusted reflection.
I never liked the mirror much.
It reminded me of your touch.
Empty.