Well its cold outside
and you know that,
yet still you stand there.
And if breathing sometimes makes your eyes
drip, shaky, to the floor,
don’t tell us.
Because we love to see beauty in the negative,
even if only illusion,
and pretend we can’t hear screaming
through the wood of that closed door.
Try it sometime when you have
no feeling.
Metal sinks in numbness easy.
Just to see if it works.
And there are times when you see everything
past a pupil,
and there are times when you know that they are gone.
But then you reach out anyway,
and there’s no answer because
nobody
is
home.
It’s that look they sometimes get.
That one where they can hear the screaming,
but don’t have the strength to open the door
on their own.
The one where they see past mirages.
The one where they know that blood stains on
solitude
is close to joy.
Not quite.
The look that makes them stand outside
knowing they are freezing,
immobile.
That look you see sometimes,
often?
Too often.
In the mirror.
