Looking up at the night sky.
The night contented with itself
Mocks the man,
And stares at him strangely.
The man maddened with himself
Watches in the mirror,
Not his admired or braved self,
Not what people call him-
The man who feels no pain,
But his terrible and lifeless self,
His twisted reality.
Plenty of bloodstains colour his white bed,
Deep scars on his body are not so deep for him,
Unforgettable injuries are still forgettable for him.
He lets out a final sigh,
And stabs himself,
Looking up at the night sky,
With his sparkling eyes,
His perfect eyes,
Longing for pain,
This poem is a continuation of my previous one- the man