I am the product of you mirrored in smashed glass

Years of bad luck, were they to come or long past?
Is my adolescent retribution enough,
Or will tomorrow hold an imitation of damnation unjust?

The pride of the sycamore balanced with longing at your unknowing behest
Oh, the fear of avaricious desire
it’s reflecting in your pupils’ exhibition of ironic conquest.

Holding up a fine mirror to considered perfection
Whilst back it stares down daggers at me
Leading me steadfast into betrayal.

I mourn deaths of not people but souls and solitude
Not memories but moments imbued with us,
After you lay me to rest must I feel gratitude?
Must I lay with sloth as you let me go but beg me to stay?

The truth is in the reflected
It’s so solemnly interjected
Blinded by love
Oh, how I was so wrongly vested

I would suspend a fusillade of echoed pieces in thin air for you to see

Have sight of what is so apparent
Look into your own eyes, truthfully…
Tell me do you see what you see in mine?
Tell me is the mighty oak in slumber, or basking rightfully in its everlasting splendour?

Unhand your prideful dealings and make known,
Are your soulful windows transparent to lies
Or do you now realise my pupils reap nothing but enamoured crimes?

I am the product of a two-way mirror dipped in longing
Fuelled by flawless imperfections
my beloved I see you so clearly through it.
You were meant to be yearned and deserved only by me!
Only by me…

Still, you look back to see only yourself
And what am I supposed to say except…
That my vision is undoubtedly identical, I see the same.
Yet I envy that you can be with your mirrored image,

Whilst I lay in the plagued abyss of our reflected sins,
A coming adulthood so cursed, a chance of rain so strong but so slim,
Thundered thoughts and a blundered maxim,
I’ll eternally rest with the seeds of our ever so whimsical whims.