The Killing

He fell in love with yet another idea,

With yet another one of his  dreams,

The mirrors inside him had grown it surreal

'Till he could, again, forget what it means...

 

It only seemed right to believe it

Since he already knew how to look,

His reflection looked good, and his spirit

Was fat with all the love that he took.

 

He fell in love again with a shadow

And loved it for being so purposely void,

She wasn't to cause him no pain and no sorrow

And thus the past was for ever destroyed...

 

There was no joy, at the end, for the killing,

The war had been fought by the stranger in him,

He could only let go, like you do of the dreaming,

When dawn has arrived, but the darkness stays in...