My reflection is not who I am,
It's eyes see through me and judge my actions,
Lingering long after it's gone I feel it's presence,
Waiting in the distance of my memories faded,
Painting the portrait of despair with blood and flesh,
And we are the body and the resting corpse,
Wrapped within the meaning of life just out of reach,
Half dead, we forgot what it feels like to live,
Nothing changes for the better inside this,
Mutilating our ambitions and hopes for sustenance,
Desperate for air; it's so hard to breathe now,
With pieces of the shattered reflection
I learn how to alter it's appearance,
Drastically tearing at the remaining few,
My hands go numb and the rest is a blur.
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