Homo Sapiens

A box made of mirrors
An ozone of glass
I am always alone
And it never shall pass

Blinding reflections
And cuts on my wrists
When did these shards
Enmesh with my fists?

I turn my hands over
The tears will not fade
They fall unbidden
My expression is staid

My heart hurts more
If I do not kill
So answer me this:
Should I cut myself still?

Yes, my hideous reflection
You’re more than correct
You are not in the wrong
What more to dissect?

You’ve shielded them, protected them
For twenty-eight years
They no longer deserve
Your nourishing tears

Let your pain loose
Be hateful and violent
Perhaps, maybe then,
Your cruelty will be silent.

  
Don’t you get away with enough yet?