the mirror is a ghost
that reflects black eyes
brought by your own hands.
tiny pupils in an iris of badly mixed paint.
you are a ghost
without the desire to haunt.
no desire to *****.
or creep up to the boy in the dark hallway
and yell 'boo!'.

every breath, he takes as your own.
his every move could be your demise.
he gives you your flesh back when
he holds you and kisses you,
even when you know he doesn't like to kiss.
he is your pale skin,
your fat thighs and freckles.
he is everything about you,
from your strange secret habits,
to your most embarrassing
**** beach runs, that can
only be remembered
through the tales of others.
he is all of you now
and you know it's a terrible
                                                  terrib­le
                                                              ­  terrible thing.

but the mirror never lies and now you are dust.
ashes to ashes.
your tongue covered in residue from the 70mg
of ****** taken.

but through the calm you wish you had his hand
to brighten your eyes and flesh once more
with just that crooked smile and deep blue eyes
that will never, never, never cease to intoxicate you.

but every night as his soul leaves,
to adventure planes in dreams you could never imagine,
that even by his side, without him there,
forever will you remain but the dust form of an empty human.