The familiarities that were once comforting
Have now become tear stained nightmares.
The anticipation of a new master piece-
One that brought the promise of change
And through magic became strokes
Of color-changing beauty, has now
Become dread and guilt.
The mirror cannot reflect the memories
Etched into crystalized eyes.
It cannot show the inner bruising,
From self-mutilation. It cannot show
The web work of past words that
Constrict the heart, barely holding
Together what was already broken.
The instability in a voice is ignored,
While time still continues all around.
One single moment can be sent into
Devastation while the earth doesn’t
Blink so much as an acknowledgment.
The smell of a crimson blade, should
Not be easily understood. The accusations
Should never have been, should never
Have become reality. If love is present,
Then these familiarities should be absent.