Such is the fate of proximity.
There's nothing that can be said that isn't already revealed in the alcohol on your breath,
and the dull, disconnected look in your glazed eyes.
They reveal a graying mix of twilight and fog.
You speak of stark, cold reality,
but you're nothing but a ghost in a shell,
spewing inconsistent truths,
and jagged lies.
Slurred words from a blurred mind.
There's no mirror clear enough,
or deep enough,
or wide enough,
to reflect all the demons that you carry on your back,
that ride your shoulders,
that stay tangled in your hair,
that you wear like a noose around your neck.
If only you could see what I see.
We're opposite sides of the human coin, me and you,
yet here we stand,
once again,
face-to-face,
and I don't know what to say.
But I do know where we stand.
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© Copyright 2009 Christopher V. DeRobertis. All rights reserved.
This text composition is a work of fiction. Names, places, institutions, events, incidents, characters, persons, locations, and/or organizations either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Full Creative Writing Disclaimer.