"We exist on the edge between the gloss and the reality: the mirror's edge."
And the glass has shattered
in a spiderweb of a fracture,
Ensnaring our very lives, so
we run. Immersed in flow.
Gliding over rooftops,
Knowing everything as intuitive.
Run, jump, climb.
No refrain,
Just a blur in time.
It only pauses for one moment:
The deadpoint;
Pendent suspense,
Caught without rise or fall
as the arch is rent.
Here we make sense of it all.
Faith is instinct,
Our grasp of it is immense.
Sometimes I can hear the broken reflections'
whispering echos on this fragmented mirror,
The edges of it running parallel to my ear.
She speaks to me,
My city.
Softly,
Like it's a dream.
But I've never felt so real.
What she told me,
Taught me how to live.
When you don't know what to do,
Run for it,
If not to get away then to feel.