The False Perfection of a Shattered Dream

There is a girl in the mirror, 
I wonder who she is, 
Sometimes I think I know, 
Sometimes I wish I did. 

Down the road, in the darkness, 
Crimson flowers wither away, 
Where her tears flood the veins, 
Of ghosts that haunt me today. 

I see her eyes, telling stories of battles lost, 
She’s bled herself to painful memories, 
Empty promises have left her hollow, 
She walks to the deep end of a ruthless imagery. 

Forbidden by truth and lies, 
I try and speak to her in vain, 
Silence deafens my cold heart, 
Stains wash away in the rain. 

Her lips, they tremble, afraid to unseal, 
The buried realities of a life mislead, 
She roars in a hush, slowly suffering, 
For all the wrongs of the dead and undead. 

I look at the scars and the cuts, 
The veiled and the unveiled, 
I can’t touch her, can’t yet help her, 
The wounding detachment can’t be healed. 

She begins to wilt away fast, like the crimson flower, 
Now merging with my reflection, 
I am still unacquainted with the beautiful girl, 
A stunning demon of false perfection. 

The stories still lay ensnared behind her eyes, 
With the lullabies and a last goodbye, 
When she is looking back at me, I can tell, 
That she is hurting inside.