gradually they go-
the idiosyncratic, the mortal, the private.
nothing is left
but desolate halls.
before they go,
the mirrors gaze at them.
two-faced demons they see.
merciless hands
in a pool of ******.
i feel out of focus,
or at least a bit seedy.
breathe in, breathe out.
i don't want to fight,
i don't want to fight,
and i never will.
i fall cold.
the idiosyncratic, the mortal, the private
watch me.
"goodbye my child,"
and the silence grows ever still.
