MANY REFLECTIONS OF A PYROMANIAC
When I grasp the breath that is my awareness
Of what it means to share the air of a room...
My skin turns into glass
The most beautiful conversation piece the mirrors;
And suprisingly so it feels like talking into one.
Tears come without warning. Just by existing,
the body I reside in proves its liquidity.
Oceans of creation walking on their two feet.
Peace and balance.
A tender feeling of standing up.
Facing the sun and sizing them up.
The golden shine of the Morning resides in all of us.
But I see you bleeding light every time you open your mouth.
-IT IS ALRIGHT TO HIDE-
But I am not allowed to talk.
I am only allowed to look straight and walk.
-But I am not just water sitting in a glass.
There are oceans raging,
A child gasping for some air.
The same air.
As you and I.
There needs to be a promise of confidentiality.
The chaos I reside has no face for me to put reigns.
No harness tight enough to tie down the pyromaniac
that burns every house, in which they reside.
The pyromaniac that shares the same face
as you and I
ends in flames.
I have never seen otherwise.