• Staring off into the night,
    I watch the sorrowful reflection of a girl,
    A ghostly glint of someone
    I shamelessly call Myself.

    Can I help her?
    Offer her a hand?
    A hand that meets cold against my palm.
    A palm emptied long before time

    Chasing my own darkened silhouettes behind the forbidden screen
    Hopelessly watching my cold reflection
    left to deal with same old mistakes,
    Same old bruises