The Mirror

I dare not look or I will see,

A vision of things that cannot be.

A body, a soul, a life, a mind,

All in perfection, a scene for the blind.

If I look, I know my eyes,

Will see the truth in all the lies.

The lies I hear from those who care.

They see beauty that is not there.

Their sight is warped, it has to be.

My eyes don't lie in what I see.

The things that I can never change.

It drives me to become deranged.

What I see in my own reflection,

It pulls me, unwilling, in one direction.

Toward the fate that guides my reason.

Forcing my actions into treason.

My heart will not let me, my head draws me nigh.

My own mental torture, I must comply.

There is no logic that I can find,

It's steely grasp obscures my mind.

I look down at my hand, the tool in my palm.

The determination in my eyes leads me to calm.

As the cold of the blade cuts into my wrist,

The flood of relief, the feeling of bliss.

The image is glorious as I watch myself die.

Standing alone with myself as I cry

For the ones I am forced to leave behind.

Hopefully, they will never know suffering like mine.

I watch the blood drip onto the floor.

Finally, my eyes will see no more.

Freedom, now, is what I seek,

From the torment and anguish of which I speak.

Silence and darkness, quiet and night.

Each I will welcome with timid delight.

For this is the only real peace I posses.

In death, my true beauty will be now professed.