i've begun to realize. that being in love with your reflection. is a common misconception. some search for gold to complete their whole- ness. their soul's own goodness. yet the pieces of them lay strewn about like thorns stinging the soles of their bare feet. self-love is a vicious venom slowly vacating the very venal pits of who you are. starving and voracious for more.
and so I acredit this false hope to the plastic world on which I live and breathe. proffering up my heart's praise to satisfy its need for plenty. I bow at aphrodite's flowered feet.
Imploring some respite.
I fight the rest-less nights
Running from the rhythm of the moon's time
Eventually I end up stifling
And bleed-ing on the exterior
My gradually growing feelings
For the ghost in the mirror.
Spilled Ink 