I picture you in the looking glass
hair rumpled and messy
falling into your eyes like washed out streaks of sun
brilliant against that azure backdrop
like a shining slice of sky

you stare back solemnly
quiet
eyes bright with innocence
and cheeks pink with the rosy flush of youth
while I try so very hard
not to meet my own eyes in the shiny silver surface
broken like the expression on your face
purity cracking
those cobalt flecks dripping down
until only an empty black hole remains
a void that even time cannot fill
as I stand here on my side of the glass
and look at you trembling on yours

trailing fingers gently
I trace a word into the dust clinging to the mirror
backwards and uneven, as though the words are hard

...Damaged...
and perhaps we are

I can't tear myself away from the fragments of your soul
clinging to sandy lashes in specks of stardust
universes hidden in each
of those tiny, insignificant smears

I wonder which one you find yourself inside
and what it's like
in a place no one else can go
your own utopia, perhaps,
or maybe your own hell
in whatever sphere you find yourself
I cannot reach you

you on your side of the glass
and me on mine
one of us locked in solitary confinement
fingers pressed against the quicksilver surface
and I don't think it's you


More poetry... ::sigh::

Kendal