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A dirge plays in my heart. Sun shines everywhere I am not. I look upon myself in a cracked, distorting mirror and turn my head to spit blood, warm and black. A body of cuts, slashes and trauma... worn down in spirit that is on its last legs. It's journey may soon be over, I fear (and rejoice about in another part of me). Feverish dreams crowd my head in which a thick fog has already descended in and shrouded mostly everything. But like that fucking energizer rabbit, I keep going. What other choice does a self-righteous welp like myself have? Flake off and turn to a dishonorable death such as suicide? Shall I really tie a tie of rope and let it all slip away? Ah hell, all what? That is a fine question. A chasm of despair and my toes are over the edge, prodding the surrounding darkness. Over my shoulder, the not-so-funny fun-house mirror screams its bloody picture show at me. It shows me things... it shows me what others have tried to show me out of jealousy and hate for what they won't try to understand. It shows a solitary figure, which in reality is true enough... but other than that, it LIES. With clenched fists and mind, I stare down below into the colourless pits below me. A deep breath is sucked into my lungs and I propell a scream to end all screams from lungs of flesh and life. A backwards step, then two and I turn, eyes still affixed down, down in the dirt and scum of this place of self-pity. The mirror LIES. That is not me, nor will it be as long as I live and have reign over any part of my life. It has reached into the recesses of my mind and torn from it the most disgusting image it could scrounge... an image of self-hate compained with sorry pity for ones self. Momentarily sickened with myself for not recognizing it, I shake my head and grunt a laugh. Reaching with arms that are scarred rather than bleeding, I grip the sides of the hideous man-made atroscity. It finds a resting spot high over my head as I turn to face what threatened to swallow me moments before. They belong together, this wicked mirror and the hole it governs. So I heave, and the last glimmering image I see in it I know is not me, but something I could never truly be, for I am not dead inside. My pulse pumps warmth and life, not cold blue venom as the sadistic mirror of society would have me believe. I do not watch it fall.
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