I stare at her with my almond eyes,
She wonders what I see within her, truth or lies.
As I walk away, she gives up too, she dies
Her fingers clutch blades smothered with blood cold as ice.
Somewhere down memory lane to discovery
Of my identity, an attempt of recovery.
Muddled up images flood the repressed mind
Vague, broken pictures taunt, impossible to find
Unknown is the bearer of an alluring voice,
But familiar are the gait and poise.
What does one do when it can recognize,
The mind of oneself but not the heart, turmoils arise.
Here I am embarking on this wild quest
To search for the image in the glass, lest,
Even she fades behind the chimes of the clock,
And my last door to my past wears a lock.
Cheery merriment, a life of perfection whizzes past,
Drenched in sun’s warmth, a scene without a blunder.
That same mellow voice lures me farther,
The dormant demons are unleashed from within at last!
I stare at my outstretched palm, bewildered,
For the rusted blades gleam in pride,
The truth watches over me, the confusion that lingered,
My almond eyes sparkle, the door opens wide.
Free of chains of reality I can now fly,
Hours of silent screams have ended with a sigh,
My mind found that voice, that of a lass,
That voice arises from me belongs to the image in the glass.