(k.)

As if to oppose the anger within, breaths unravel into fire,
tears spill with no command.

I offer you fragments of my insanity,
and you clutch your pride
like glass already broken.

Professional masks drift across the night,
fouling impressions of hours
that collapse into dust—
forgotten, forgiven—
while regret hums like a quiet machine
in the corners of the room.

A serpent of inquiry coils around the thought,
its tongue a whisper of doubt.
The stinging shadow of solitude
presses against the skin,
while a victory dissolves,
sweet and sticky,
into the pleasure of its own defeat.

But do I win,
or only disappear through an unlocked door?

To be, or not to be drowned—
the question bogs itself,
soaked in blended feelings of oppression,
resistance,
and disrespect garnished strangely
with cranberry sweetness.

I drift as if gifted
into a sea of troubles,
a tide of voices painted blue.
You watch me change color
as if I were a chameleon of sorrow,
and you lose yourself in my enchantment—
or in the reflection of your own.

The night folds into mirrors,
each one cracked but endless.
I step into one,
becoming both question and answer,
both prayer and curse.

Time lingers like smoke,
refusing to vanish,
and I wonder—
was I ever here,
or only imagined
by the silence between your breaths?