Broken Mirror

I do not like to look at my face,

drooping and wrinkling where once

it was youthful and vibrant.

The harsh reality is not worth

the time that has escaped me

to note the scars and blemishes

that mark my face like a rock slide

that tumbled down a mountainside.

It is a frightening image to see

every morning, the halitosis 

fogging the shining glass as I peek

through to see frazzled hair

and rough skin patches.

I am not what I used to be and

it pains me to think that it gets worse

than what I see already

through the broken glass 

of my bathroom mirror.

Poison

I sip the poison, not under false pretenses,
but the curiosity of its colors allure my taste buds,
fooling me in belief that happiness is liquid.
Like a metallic glass of water, its jagged edges
cut my throat, mixing blood and toxins
while my body slowly weakens.
I drink it to drench my system,
coat my stomach in hopes that it will quench me,
and make me invincible, a superhero; it fails.
Foam overflowing from my mouth,
a visual cry of irregularity and despair,
are shadowed by my own desires to continue drinking.
It pierces its silver daggers through my heart
and spills green and black ooze
masquerading as my blood.
I douse my throat with the venom,
deepening its destruction, creating a black hole,
leaving me an empty shell of who I was, leaving me
fragile, empty and numb.

Have You?

Have you ever put a knife's edge to your throat

and dragged it slowly against your coarse skin

so that the serrated blade grabs you until you rip?

Have you ever done this while looking in mirror

to watch the blood taint the stainless steel

and lazily drip down the side of your neck?

Have you ever told someone to watch you

and press his tongue to the scarlet drops, cleaning

the salty surface as he takes the final slice across?

Have you ever smiled and laughed so loudly

that it draws a crowd, gazing at the spectacle

of your life escaping from your body?

Have you ever caught blood from your unhinged head

in a clear plastic cup, painting it red with each splash,

and try to replace it pouring out like Victoria Falls?

Have you ever died with millions watching

as you struggle to gasp for air, crash to your knees

and with your last bit of life watch them walk by?

Trapped

We have built a wall,
so high and extensive,
impossible to traverse,
that we have accepted
its obstinate visage as part
of our natural landscape.

We have complacency
knowing that agreement,
no matter how unreasonable,
protects us from indulgence
and introspection which may
contradict artificiality.

We have allowed masses
to be ostracized,
cast beyond bricks and mortar,
to protect a facade
established by men
who grew fearing entropy.

We have hidden ourselves
in a bastille,
caressing the bars daily,
indoctrinated under guises
that the fortress enables
a free and fair mind.

We have lived here for ages
inside a stone chamber
which no one agrees upon,
but that has become stronger
through the convictions
of a shackled societal mind.

My Memory

My memory is fading,
Sheered wool off a sheep,
Onto another man's shoulders,
Line by line erased from me
and whispered by you,
solemnly swear, I do.

The fletching out my body bright
conceals the anguish piercing
a postmodernist tragicomedy
gazed upon by a fearful audience
unaware of the rain that poured
and the rainbow that appeared.

My memory is fading,
though my face still optimistic,
to conceal the writhing torment
underneath my skin,
communication between synapses
snapped, I do.

The fountain of youth still evades
my aging consciousness,
and my body aches
to return to my thoughts
instead of with scarabs
tickling my numbing memory.

Love Ya

His eyes- completely hollow and glazed-

greet mine with a "hey,"

a painful salutation like a sword to the throat.

His smile- non-existent at the moment-

our bodies entangle in a sandpaper hug,

skin ripped from our bodies covering them in blood.

His voice- flat and unmoved-

lacking conviction as it claims "good,"

which has turned to be just the accepted social response.

His hands- sweaty and shaking-

anxious and tapping the palms of our hands,

slipping away like grabbing eels in the sea, escaping.

His legs- bouncing and relentless-

matching his hand's fidgety nuances,

confused which one should lead the other towards the door.

His heart- normal and paced-

a humdrum melodic reminder repeating 

like every annoying clock's swinging pendulum.

He holds me longer than usual-

An odd rush of pain burns through us-

He kisses me on the cheek- "Love ya."