at some point my solo reflection that gazed back into glassy hollow unequal pupils began to claw hungrily at the glass bated breath fogging the thin membranous divider keeping back the unadulterated most abject terror
that wooden grain geometrically containing the image who must stay hidden in the holy of holies or risk the ruin of all things
she beats against the glass that wraith girl with the sutured mouth and blinded eyes and skin who cries out for the slice of liquid mirror shards and grasps the edges of that rectangular prison jagged pieces sliding sensually keys into forbidden locks surgically opening the red liquorish vines pulsing with a viscous pungent poison just underneath onion paper skin
her nails scrape lead paint chips off the crumbling frame and i take them into myself sewing them with the care of a grandmother's arthritic hand into the warm moist black i can ever count on
she falls like a newborn foal glistening with those maternal fluids the literal matrix of life hesitant steps on the feet from that other dimension where laws diverge and perception is not relative but horridly absolute
how can she manage that leap which knocks me straight out of my body astrally exiled from myself and filled to the brim with a ghost girl marionette with painted sanguine smile and strings attached at each one of my joints moving me with a flick of some nameless fear
i think i spent too much time trying to reconcile the foreign body whose defection left me howling with a fiery bloodlust and an insatiable hunger to vaporize those staining contaminants those long chain fatty acids that deposit like stones in my pockets weighing me down to the river bed whose mirror still reflects the graven image of a sinner-saint whose sallow complexion demonstrates her devotion and in her death faith though her sacrifice was no crucifixion to relieve me of any of my transgressions or prevent me from besmirching the god i'm not sure i totally believe in
how do i give myself to you and banish the apprehension that comes with the crash landing of me into this corporeal form stolen from me ages ago
how do i tell you that when your hands trace the curvaceous line of this body that it feels like a fire's touch scorching me to the bone burning me at the stake of my inadequacy and simultaneous excess