Those shadows lingered hesitantly,
the reflection confined
in that damned mirror.
Your distorted fingers grasp at my
rugged skin, peeling
layers away, until my
skin is adorned in bruises. Even your
hot breath somehow pervades this
isolated atmosphere, cutting
decisively. I recall those dripping words
of faulty promises, bringing with it slow shivers.
Staring into that damned reflection
I can still feel that scratchy clothing cutting
across my bare skin. With trembling hands, I
strike that damned reflection, thin shards
of our forgotten intimacy remain embedded in
my fragile hands.
With quivering fingers, I pluck
at the shards embedded
deep within my palms.Yet amidst my
struggles I could not pry away the
remnant of you from my flesh. Sitting in that
scalding pool of water, I scour my bare flesh
with grains of sand- perhaps hoping that
my skin would callus and withstand
Blowing outside my
forsaken, desolated, glass castle.
Or perhaps it would fall apart
into those damned unmemorable grains
of sand- pointless, futile.
Yet I remain a stranger to this world,
grasping at the semblance
of perfection your presence
once etched out for me- and those
grains of sand burrow
beneath my skin, behind my eyes.
And I see the world-
In front of that damned reflection
I clutched your swiss army knife
and tried to carve progress
out of my body
but my skin kept snagging,
as though recalling the
whiskey on your breath,
and all that came out were
those damned grains of
sand. With each decisive stroke I
etched onto my faulty body, I
reminisced of our passion-
swept away from my unsteady grasp.
By the time my hands ceased to move,
all that remained of me
was a pile of sand-
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