Ask it.

And mirror marked
Of grime, and dirt

Lines, white
Razor perfect

Eyes that haunt
My own

Approaches
A simple device
Of a vice

Choices

I find myself
This familiarity
Strings to hands
Leading feet

Want, need
To not
And no longer
Be that one

This used to numb
Thoughts are
Are not

The intentions
Put to sound
Shaky tired voice

Help me

Breathe it in
While facing
His gaze is
I
Am

Sorry





Again