I Speak To Mirrors

Alone,
Such a familiar circumstance,
Throwing the voices in my head a bone,
With my "happy and lucky to be lonely" dance.

Anxious,
Every tap of the foot, every drip from the sink, every whisper in my ear,
An invitation to the matrimony of repressed animosity and eremitic delusions,
Amputating parasitic affairs and wretched company at the altar of solitude where independence is revered.

Desperate,
One last gasp of that cold night air,
Before my head finds another tenant,
To occupy the vacancy underneath my hair.

Homicidal,
The instinctive euphoria whenever I hold a knife,
The apex predators are solitary hunters, only cowards are suicidal,
Indulging my most primal pleasure of claiming another's life.

Alone,
We've come back full circle my old friend,
I must say you look stunning tonight through the glass, soft as skin yet firm as stone,
Let no one else interrupt our romantic evening lest they too meet an untimely end.