Broke through mirrors until
You found the right image
Didn't matter whether blood
Would stain the skin
All that counted
Was the perfect image
-
Forty-two mirrors later
Three hundred scratches later
The mirrors finally slit both corneas
Leaving you alone in the dark
As the sun warmed your cheeks
And boiled your crimson coat
-
Satisfaction was never so painful
Yet dripping out poison
And staring into the darkness
Having your inner thoughts dance
Like fireworks that don't burn
Like eternal sleep except your alive
-
However this happiness
Came with regret as a bow
Wrapped around your present
Then the sudden realization
Swarmed onto you like forty-two ants
And three hundred irritating bites later
You wished you could have seen
What now as a blind man can see
-
That all you had to do to
In order to find the right image
Was close your eyes
And if you couldn't hold them shut
Long enough to feel the comfort then
Wear some shades; a blindfold
Bury your head in a pillow; a shoulder
Do something because your mind
Is where sanity hides so well
Until you need it most
Until you shut your eyes
And let the mind work up a spell
To cast you in a far away place
Because sometimes nightmares
Are just scary tales under a flashlight
Told to you like a campfire friend
Sharing marshmallows with his chum
