All that bangs against my reflection
on the other side of the mirror
is a shadow of my own flaws,
writing distorted worlds of words
in the blood of my being,
for we dug mass graves
to bury our dreams in
when the sun wept
radiation that beckoned
a nuclear winter
and our ashes fell like snow,
covering the tombstones
of our shallow moments of pretending
in the cleansing purity
of endings
But even though we knew honesty
as but a masquerade of the faithless,
dancing in tune with our madness aching
as we awaited the perishing of our souls,
and our lies
were always wishes
that never came true
