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Poems

Some are better than others.

A Year as a Shattered Mirror

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.

The Three

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

The Second

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

Teachings

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