You shook my life like a snow globe and watched the ashes fall
Tracing their path with your finger, you smudged the frail glass ball

“How pretty!” you had said of the ashes of my fears
That had drifted from the burning of my self-destructive years

Or was that cry of praise for you and your own reflection
That stared back at your loving gaze of endless self-affection?

And when you smudged the glass enough to blur my inner self
You called me ineffective and left me on your shelf

For I could no longer show you the things you longed to see
By losing your reflection, you concurrently lost me