Sometimes I talk to this mirror,
That man never talks back
So I turn my back on him so he knows
How it feels to be alone.
But if I'm only reflecting on my own reflection
Maybe I'm stuck having his connection.
Collecting my thoughts without judgement,
Packing up my subconscious like luggage,
Letting it disappear into that sunset.
I've been hunting for good mental health,
Tracking the prints before the snow did melt,
When spotted, I speared it and skinned it.
Now look at this beautiful pelt.
Hands drifting across it's skin
I developed a deep understanding
Of why killing mockingbirds is a sin.
They say we dream of a perfect soul,
I think we just dream of feeling whole.