When the flames of the fireplace turned to biting frost
And friends became strangers with eyes absent of care
I attempted to convince "It's all in my head"
But the pain was real enough to disfigure and warp
My reflection in the mirror to nothing beyond feeble recognition.
I pick myself up from the floor with a quivering heart,
But the only thing I can hear is the fearful beat of yours;
Even across the screaming distance of the room
And the even larger one between who I am and who I used to be.
I suddenly felt a fleeting jolt of despair
But reminded myself: you can't be moved by feelings you don't have.
My soul has been severed, six, seven, eight times-
With each cut spilling good intention to an unfortunate waste,
Until I'm left barely half a human.
I wonder if you're scared of what I have become.
"Why are you crying?" I ask,
But I already know the answer.