I’ve made a habit of lying to myself,
Mirror staring back, a thousand shards of glass,

each piece reflecting the choices of my past,
reach for the broken, the mused and busted bottle from the top shelf.

I cut myself deep, compassion missing, no slack,
a neediness, a quick fix remedy in ways where we lack.

A permanent sleep comes but none too soon,
you’re a perfect mistake, like a blinding sunlight in the early afternoon.

Use your hand to trace a place along my face, a perfect resting space.

A silent protector, shield in hand, standing guard,
empty out our love, embrace depleted energy, it can’t be that hard.

There’s a need to feel wanted, and wishful stories to share,
don’t loosen your grip on this heart, the hands are there to care.

A handful of flowers, carefully placed in ***** water,
each day dying as they wonder what is the matter.

I long for views, pictured, perfect and painted,
what we have: love, longing and laughter,

encase our desire in each other we’re all that matters,
Short are the days missing the wicked, the sharp and tattered.

Goodnight, for now, as darkness removes the tainted.