I used to enjoy
spooning dead
creatures up
from deep
bottomless pits
to give them life.

I liked to
interrogate
their despair,
untangle their
hair and polish
the mirrors
I would
shove into
their faces,

telling them
to mimic my
words, bright
and round and
in harmony
with one another,

while i reserved
the jagged
and rusty
phrases for myself,
sharpening blindly
for the sake
of the sharpen,
for the sake
of tradition,
until I had
turned around
into my own
mirror
aghast to
witness the
knife I had
become.