Sometimes the mirror is ripe with vines of shadows, circling my shoulders, pressing all too urgently and familiar.
The air suddenly slices through to my bones.
Weeping skies and hollowed heartbeats threaten to pull me back to the tornado of disjointed memories. The taste of fever and hatred is in my mouth and I wonder for a second, if I can breathe in these mirrored shards before they perforate my mind.
One eye still on the future, I swallow the bilious threats and smile because this is me looking the hypnotising past straight in the eye, and chosing to look away.
“Calculate what we will or will not tolerate”~Tool, the grudge