02 August 2010

The Mirror I Cannot Destroy (Seven Years' Bad Luck)


she taps my
shoulder with
l o n g ,
slender fingers,
both hot and cold against
my pallid shell.

familiar.

inviting.

disconcerting.

her eyes glow the
color of dark amber;
beetles and bees,
frozen in the geological honey,
are the flecks of would-be-light.

her arms open.
she promises such beaut(tragic)iful
things:
memories i've forgotten,
friends lost,
lovers stolen.

if i would but reach out to her,
she could bring them
all
to me
again.

my fingers twitch inside of my pockets.
all of these things are
native to my being;
yes, i would very much
like to know them again.

but at what price?
at what cost?

lips the color of rotten cherries
emit the kind of purr that
would lure even the most
resolved of men
to their deaths.

stagnant, i stand,
unwilling to embrace,
yet unwilling to leave.

we are at a stalemate.

how could i abandon her?,
for she is inside of me;
she breathes my air
and bears my blood.

terrified,
i come to realize

she is me.

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