Behind closed eyes await demented demons.
Silver tongue slivers of toxic tasteless ideals.
Intoxicated doses of fantasies provoked by the previous night’s regrets.
Self-medicated doses of ‘fuck it’ right to the veins.
It’s how to destroy loathe of the mirror.
But once the body is buried, it doesn’t matter how much “fuck it” is thrown on it.
The rate of decomposition does not matter, it’ll always return.
Nightmares do not only occur when asleep.
And no life is a paradise.
Most are tragedies.
Turning away from the mirror comes easy if you see your reflection each time you blink.
By Jack Thomas