I wrote this yesterday to one of my most recently acquired acquaintances.
“Mirrored”, because talking to her is almost as infuriating, yet fascinating, as talking to myself.
As a mighty wolf cornered by dogs,
By snarling rabid fiends impatient,
Pacing, hidden in the blackest fog,
Slobbering with anticipation –
Thus you tread with grace unspoken
Through the wretched and the dull,
With vibrant darkened dreams unbroken
And endless worlds crowding your skull.
In crimson nights your vision bathes,
In reveries of dulcet doom,
Yet never runs the coward’s way
And never fills your cooling tomb.
Ages crawl forth to your torment –
Ordeals they’ll never hear nor see –
For they’ll never be like you, my friend,
And never will they be like me.