Desiccation, besieged me,
crawling through a desert on scrapped knees,
twirling slowly, arms to the sky
summoning rain or anything to get by;  
pleading for Death,
with every quivering breath.
I sought after salvation
yet hapless findings brought forth only damnation.
My eyes, I questioned of deceit when I stumbled
an oasis open wide, once then I crumbled,
lying finally quenched and finally anew
like spring thunder or morning dew.

Mundanity, what a story to sell
reflecting off black mirrors, shallow stories to tell
amidst the living rooms, amidst the park benches
all the same sullen faces, stuck in the same dredge.
I've seen faces merely pass on through
not a word for thought, just a something to do.
And it's a saddening scene to unfold
even sadder as a story untold;
"Line up kids for a nickel, for a buck
a white paper, a white dress, a white fence, who gives a ****"
but I've seen faces in the red and blue delirium,
succumb to the sold requiem.
There must be more,
alas I'm immersed in the same mundanity as before,
the same as the faces, dragging home at the 5
and the same as the faces, at the same local dive.
Or perhaps I'm among the ones looking for knives,
or the derelict ones with the hungry wives.
And I cannot help but wonder if that's all that we get,
am I wasting my life to wait for the not quite best yet?
Because I've seen faces that I suppose are still on a line,
for a dismal sublime and it's all madly asinine

I've sauntered upon valleys of emerald grass--
but my head, the object of dismal reality--
and I've always imagined it greener.
though I've seen pools against a diamond sky--
covered in crystals, singing enchantments--
but I've always imagined nymphs with waterfalls.
and maybe it was a blissful mirage,
a shimmering delusion in grand schemes,
another inkling of a paradise lost,
but they're never anything like I seem to dream.
yet, still, all the silver and gold to buy
all the peaks so as to kiss each horizon
for that, I would risk it all
for I've always imagined it greener,
what an addiction, I cannot break.

Fingers like ice,
so now I scald my body
to burn off the traces
to **** off what lingers
in the air with the frost;
and it's my own cold fingers
that always bring me back,
so then I walk through fire.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Ain't I the fairest one of all?
Thou, art the fairest in the land

The glass I adorned,
around my body like a cloak,
like a cloak of transparency;
instead I built up an armor,
to spite myself,
to surround myself in pressures,
reminders, sincerity, and heads.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Ain't I the greatest Queen of all?
Thou, O Queen, art greatest in all the land.

Now shard of glass little linoleum floors,
remnants of a forte never mastered,
or never mine to lose, to break, to tread lightly,
so bare feet dig into every blade,
to feel something,
to cover myself in silent, ******, transparency...

Mirror, mirror on the Wall,
Can anyone even see me at all?
Thou, O Queen, adept vanity ******* all.

In deep cleansing breaths,
I rid thee
of the holdfasts
that once anchored me.

Distance, my greatest companions
With space and time, on my side,
I relinquish my suffering,
to let it die, let it lie all covered in lace.