I look good in this mirror, look closer
It's only because nothing is lit up.
Background black.
Forbidding those to see beneath my scaley skin.
My eyes were meant to be gazed upon,
If for too long, like Madusa said,
Man turns to stone,
But off with her head.
My voice has remnants of sweet birds in the morning,
Or like soundscapes before bed.
Just look beneath me, you'll see
Things are empty.
Nothing but a sad sad piano playing,
Tip toeing in your ear.
Be weary of me.
Stand clear.
Beware of me.