the first time I saw death
it wasn't on a morgue table
it wasn't lying in the middle of the street
it was in the reflection of glass
hollowed eyes- staring at nothing
gaunt angles that were easier then a voodoo recipe
distortion in every crook and cranny
picking at skin
that left bruises
the size of your palm
and the color of night
the first time I saw death
it wasn't in a hospital bed
or in a field of rotten daisies
it was in the reflections around me