benumb

My mirror does not show anymore two of a kind.

It just tries to convince me every day,

Staring at me blind,

That this strange person is here to stay.
So I take my brush night by night,

And redesign this canvas that plays by heart.

It mocks it and takes a bite,

'Even kids could do finer art!'
'But I like it, it's unusual, it's me',

Hearing broken reddish glass everywhere

And with one more turn on the skeleton key,

The room fills up with a striking smell of despair.
An uneasy thought comes through my mind,

As i sit down on top of my bed:

'How can you put color on something so undefined,

Especially when it feels so dead?'