And that’s what it comes down to,
A balancing act seen through shapes and blurred figures
falling and lifting in a mirror,
Black, white and grey, a dance, a leap,
a swift curl in and flesh winding out
Turn your head not; the mirror lies.
What do you see?
Refusals and denials,
In a life where movies and computer screens
are realer than windowpanes and tablecloths,
the inner and the outer
throbbing of my brain
can’t be differentiated
Math, math methods and economics;
racism and cultural appropriation,
consumption of the female and hurling out of the male,
the salt in the lens solution dries and sticks because these eyes need no lubrication.
I point out that your green eyes falter when you’re truthful,
shocking because on a night like tonight
when the sun couldn’t have set
because it never rose
to begin with,
how can you be truthful with your insides
swimming in a screen?
Pictures of blank eyes and
crimson lips that swim painfully
with disappointment but every inch revealed is
every inch covered up in the
separate sensibility of each self that
doesn’t really exist anywhere so
internally and externally we dissipate
differentiate but merge,
nothing and everything, lies.
Smudged roses on the lips point at smudged blood in the arteries,
melting into skin and through
pores and into empty
bedsheets, smudged lipstick hints at a mirroring
self that’s somehow worthier,
than the self with no reflection at all because