I live for an eternity,
Eclipsed by a morbid twisting of trees;
The coldness of metal bars
Shedding off its morning dew.
The hardness of my wrist
Calms the mark between my brows.
My draping sleeves brush my cheeks
And feed itself a soft-breathed sigh.
Elsewhere I do not live as myself,
But as the damned shard of a mirror
In which I cannot see my reflection.
Let the glass cut these sore hands,
And society shall drink my blood as wine;
Thirsting for the day it can destroy me,
Intoxicating itself in the splendor of tragedy.