Reflections

 

No one cares about what you write

Your writing is just a crazed infatuation

Brought about by bouts of anger

The paper in front of you is a blank reflection of what you are

Rip her to shreds

Throw in the rubbish bin

Splash

They're good at bringing about tears

So it goes to show

They can see right through your irrational fears

Widow spiders crawling across the windowsills

Scuffling up the abandoned bar and barstools

The basement is the back of your mind

Not quite forgotten

Where murky things lie in wait

Don't stare at them

They'll stare right back at you