Turn around and its always near
Shadows of a broken mirror
About, you face, or right behind
Having little faith in mind
You turn around and run to hide
From the silhouette inside
Jagged reflections start to overtake you
Fear, anger, and sadness are in its brew
And when it finally envelops you whole
All Hopes will force you to fall down that deep hole

Is that still you?
I remember days of not breathing
at the thought of your last breath,
of loose words
and using them to carefully twist
a heartstring hammock.

I can't see past the red in your eyes now,
the spots on your face like footprints, track marks,
soft and tired,
hard like needles.
They stripe your skin as if for an ancient battle,
for a war that soaks your empty spaces in kerosene
and scrapes the match off your wrist.

So while these butterflies pull my stomach
out my mouth, to the floor,
and your feet shuffle from the bombs erupting
down to your toes...
I can't bear the thought of a cloudless conscious,
of reality too close to the glass.
The thought that I can't save you from this,
because all I want
is to burn down with you.

Tonight I dance alone, in my red robe.
Alone, with what I have come to let haunt my mind.
The temple of solitude is breached.
If I am the Soliloquist,
I have too many voices within me to be heard.
If I am the Sciamachist,
I have too many enemies to hope to win.

Tonight I dance alone, because pleasure eludes my mind.
Alone, excommunicated and,
in some sense,
left behind.