The Art of Dying
Poems and Photos of {re}birth
I am fascinated by my own reflection
Captivated Each time like peering at a strangers pain
never fully seen or been seen
Quizzical curious glances stolen at window panes
Stop stopping with a staccato stare
Because the mirrors that should have detailed my intricate lines were cracked by generations of trampling trauma
Seven years bad luck they say, well I have…