A mirror's image

A Poem by Killian

hmm i kinda went crazy with this one and let my fingers take it where it went so hopefully it's still ok

I looked in the mirror while I pressed the blade against my skin knowing that blood would flow. Thus I made sure to ease the pressure to only cause the genocide of stubble under my chin. I pulled my face, taut; to better behead the strands of hair, made easy with the gelatinous orange cream that smelled of smooth, suave…

God knows what.

I washed my face and let the droplets drive down the valleys and alcoves of my youthful, aging face, to the tip of my nose where their routes would end in a free fall into the watery abyss below. I slowly raise my head to peer into my new, yet old face. I stare into the man that looks back at me with a blank look. He looks like me…

But does he know the pain?

The man in the mirror could be my twin but didn't have my experiences. Made of glass he was but unlike me he still stood unshattered, for inside the jagged pieces of my soul dangled with fangs and broken reflections of what I used to be. I envied this man's smooth looks, his black hair and, slight smile. Across the heated sand he seemed content and able to move on and…

Write the next chapter.

This man could not have been my reflection, for if he was he would reflect the only pieces that were left before she took my heart that I wrapped in a bow and fed it to the beasts below. I knew he was not me for my eyes are red with sorrow after witnessing what I thought was a friend, but in fact he was a fiend for holding her in front of him as he pressed loins against her…

Amidst the music of that night.

This man could not be me for if he were he would be bent, misshapen, grey, and dead, yet there he stood a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. What could he know that I did not? How I wanted him to reach out and tell me. My thoughts go back to the words she uttered in the midst of people's bodies, and the roar of bass and tunes. It is funny how despite the noise of feet and beats…

One can hear the sound of the end.

I drifted back to my current surroundings and felt the dying water on my face. I turned again to the man I saw and still he looked firm and strong. I wanted to strike his face, make him feel my pain but no one crosses the desert sand without the wounds on their hands. So instead I looked closer at his face, and slowly…very slowly… I started to see why this man was smiling. I started to understand why he stood tall. It is of course because in spite of being silhouettes of our former selves and left without a beating heart…

Somehow we are both still alive and well.