REFLECTION

Then I look at my reflection in my bathroom mirror, and there are so many images of myself, some I do not know, then there are others I would soon choose to forget. I am looking at the reflections in my car mirror, and there are past and present images. And future, and I begin to sweat.

The screams are getting so much louder than the voices that refuse to pay rent. Do they not know how to f*ck a mind? It would be best if you first caressed it. Instead, they would start interrupting the peace that was so fucking hard to achieve. I am searching for a reason to believe. All these reflections sit in their castles made of glass, watching me sip my poison of choice as they drink the cheapest of wines in the hopes that I will crumble and kiss their ass.

I keep looking back then, asking myself how I got this far and why when I died a handful of times, I did not remain like their dreams, dead on arrival. Can it be because I mapped out my survival and became a shining star in the night's skies?

I have not felt this way in years, maybe days. The thirst and the hunger never seem to want to leave me alone and fade. These reflections are those that I independently have made, like the ink that stains my skin telling me my story and whispering inside my ear, damn it, boy, you need to think. Before at any reflection, you blink, even if it is your own