A mirror stares blankly at eyes lacking sleep.
Compelled by it’s own demise,bones show through the creatures tight skin, growing tighter by the day.
Black holes surround the empty iris, their reflection showing hurt and wanting, cast between a silent film and physical soliloquy.
Count to three and breath, exhale nails and self-made glass.
No one looks, no one asks.
Call upon mineral screens, create your own god. Deviate from a plan.
Grind stones for blood for two hours, trade it for 30.
When I close my eyes I see conversations convincing death, rigorous self-making. Stripping freedoms for massive improvement.
You know about the mirror, the face that seems so distant, tired.
That face that makes demons skin crawl.