Some are better than others.
Is this to be a friend?
To mirror? To shatter?
My shards cut.
In pieces, still I reflect-
now blood and tears.
From afar, I see them still,
still in myself, only in myself,
broken as myself.
If I fix them, I will be fixed,
but they are not broken,
or I cannot fix.
My touch still cuts.
when I break, I break in three
The first has no form
it does not think but cries
it refuses others
it hates self
it wants nothing but to not be
the second knows the first
it understands it
or at least craves it
feeds it with twisted logic
it wants nothing but not to be
the third knows the second
it wants to understand
why the first wails
why the second cheers
it believes it wants to be
Who would want not to wish well but the second
He is the one who wants the end
Wants nothing but my demise
And by extension, his own
Though he smiles
He is mine
He is the one who cheers for my ruin
Cheers for the erosion of my mind
In which he will forever reside
When the third might win
We won’t be
He is the one who will profit
I eat I sleep I breathe I am kind
I care for others
They feel for me
To feel is to believe
They know better
They know best
I am not to know
Or I refuse to learn
To pry is to crack
So I look no more
Despite my fears
I break what I fix
For I want to love
To reforge is to taint
Adding a dent
With each swing