1900
I'm standing here staring in the mirror.
I can't stand the image portrayed.
A figure wrapped in a vest of flesh,
but empty it is,
living without an organ in its chest.
I am soulless like roadkill.
Must be, to allow the birth of tragedy from the womb of love.
I've walked among the souls
with melodic heartbeats that sang gospels
without even speaking a single word.
Or maybe I just couldn't hear the lyrics
because they were only meant to be felt.
And when I look upon my flesh I see veins,
but the nerves of sensory and emotion aren't felt.
My vision of sympathy
and empathy are transparent.
I am possessed by the inhumane spirit
of a specimen whose alienation is love.
This is the only justifiable answer to the question
that I could possible scrape up.
I deserted the love of my life
at the time that she was parched
from the stress that sucked her dry
and thirsting for the indisputable love
that every soul deserves.
Especially her.
She's something like an angel.
I misused her trust for deception
and played with her heart
as if they were piano keys.
Striking each note until a soft tune
of rhythmic blues resonated
within her heart.
I clipped the wings from her back
and allowed her to spiral to a crash landing
into the depths of bane.
I couldn't sense that she only spread her wings
to help me incline me to new heights,
yet I only helped her endure decline to new lows.
The thoughts running through my mind
maintain their endurance with consistency.
Until this day, they have yet to cease and retire.
The image in the mirror is beginning to fade to ghost.
It took me way too long to realize
that she was a major part of me.
And as she drifts further from my grasp,
I lose more and more of myself.
Soon she will be gone forever.
And there will be nothing left in sight,
because there will be no me.
