Objects In Mirror May Be Closer To Death Than they Appear.

A very dark, self-loathing piece from my adolescence. One of my favorites of anything I've ever written. Inspired mostly by nightmares and dreams.

Not all the surgeons in the world could fix me.
Not now.
I'm shattered to bits inside, and my bones are jutting out
Through parts I never knew existed.
Do you want to watch me die now?
One, two, three...
      Hey Momma, look at me
      I'm taking my last steps.
Who knew life could kill?
I did.
Surprise! I'm on the balcony, peering down
At an illusion of my dead body.
I've decided against it yet again.
Little do I know
      Hey Momma, watch me now
      I'm trying my new wings out.
Not all the psychologists ever could analyze me
Correctly.
My mind wants to break me up like cell phone static
And sit in a corner with a mirror
Watching myself starve to death.
I shouldn't have to force human instinct.
And all the distaste is amplified.
     She's staring back
     Hands groping glass
     Mind dousing images in happy pain
     Painting me with blood that isn't there.
This girl, she can't be me
I used to be so happy
This girl with drowning eyes and burning words
With bats stuck down her throat, a cave of desperation.
There is no blade, no chainsaw murderer,
It's worse.
Crawling through a house of mirrors
She's so afraid of me.
She keeps darting in and out.
I can't find the exit.
     Convulsions are mixing up their marching orders.
     There's red milk spilled up on the ground,
     White wine freezing down inside.
I think I've found the exit.
I've woken up and opened up my eyes.
     Hey Momma, look at this
     I'm alive and you don't care.

Reviews

[J.M]

Well I seem to be the first person to have found this truly inspiring poem and... what can I say apart from that I love it. The imagery was fantastic and I love the repetition of 'Hey Momma' - very powerful. I also adore 'Crawling through a house of mirrors
She's so afraid of me'. I can really empathise with this - when you look in the mirror and don't know yourself. A masterpiece of a poem.