I am but an echo
Of a call
In an empty city block
For the lost lover
Who has crossed the road too far.

There are nightmares
growing in me.
There are mirrors
where my reflection
is your face.
And they do not look at me
but through me.
In your eyes
I see the dream
that was almost mine.

Your severe gaze
resounds and echoes
the meanness only humans have.
But your hands melt at anything you touch
so that nothing,
even water,
is disturbed by your presence
in this world.
How did you learn
make that face
that kept people at distance
and kept them on their toes.
How hard was it
roam in this world (that you loved too much)
knowing everything would hurt you,
and knowing the defeat at the face of the war
that you never wanted
and you can never win.
How hard is it,
to burn the flowers
born out of your soul
only so people would
avoid the impending disaster
that you are not.