My demon lives in mirrors;
it doesn't take much to ignite the flame of contempt between us.
Our eyes meet –
I see her hazels, the way they're wide open
but she's asleep, empty, always distant
from the ones she loves,
if she loves at all –
and I spark. With white-hot rage,
fistfuls of hair, I shove her
H A R D
against the glass.
Only self-image shatters.
I yell at her; I stand ashamed and loathing but
I will her salvation.
"Don't you feel the bruises?
Doesn't it hurt?
Don't you want to fight?
One day I know she will. She didn't fall too far from grace.
And after all,
the pain that comes with learning to breathe again
And it is better than nothing.