12-21-17 Mirror (bathroom floor)
Reflections feel starry,
I sit here alone
With the pipes.
Never needed it back then,
But I draw myself to the solitude now.
Outlines in scratched clarity,
I don't think much is real
Until you make it.
Until you give it the priority of existence.

You been dropping
And I have too,
But in a different way.
All you do is think about
The acidic wasteland
You've crafted
From little squares of blotter.
And if that makes you an artist,
That makes me in love.

Glassware isn't white any longer,
And maybe that's us.
Crossing the lines of purity,
Despite the fact
That purity, we never had,
And we hooked up drinking.

Cool blues,
My body is made of it-
Bone marrow of Windex,
Yet I couldn't hold onto
Clear images.
Outside, I'm vibrant-
Neon lights and
Tripping other people with my highs,
Black light and loud music,
But inside,
All I have are eyes.
They blink with the breaths,
I never meant to be so watchful.
Studying you like a history,
Peeking through the curtains
At every little trigger.

Back into focus,
At a mirror and a potlight (irony am I right),
Look myself in the face
And wish for change,
Grant myself love.
But my skin's still purple-
Partially from
The dye and partially from
The under oxygenation.
Strange, how it all lines up.
Let my fingernail fill the scratches to the glass,
I understand
I understand.
⁃ (m.m)