The day is coming soon, she says,
The day I break through and will know,
Pain is a four letter word in this poisoned haze,
clouding over me like all others in its flow.
I screamed for mercy, some sign of remorse,
but I couldn't hear myself over breaking glass.
I fell down in pieces, my voice had become hoarse,
and I stood over my shattered self in victorious bask.
Accomplished in destroying my own means,
The complexity met reality and I started to bleed.
Glass never breaks smoothly; it's sharp at the seams,
the blood staining my fists taught me to take heed.
The wounds healed and the time passed quick.
My history stayed only enough to teach.
But that shattered me just seemed to stick,
bleeding me dry like remorse was a leech.
Eventually my intentions grew distant,
revolutions of long past forgotten.
Inarticulacy became my close assistant,
and only rebellion was ever begotten.
That's when I realized, wearing a smirk,
I was in the mirror now, looking out at justice.
And then I broke myself to make it work,
and the irony understood enough to trust us.
So I screamed again for mercy, some sign of remorse,
and again I watched myself shatter to the floor.
This time, however, my edges were coarse,
and scratched the hands breaking in for more.
And the funny thing is, no matter which side of the mirror-
the eyes always looked the same.
