Internalization begins within,

Self-reflecting in a fragile mirror machine,

Sometimes I feel it just needs a breeze,

To shatter into the three parts that are contained inside me:

Love, fake-smiles and melancholy.

What colours would flow out of the broken glass?

Would you find another feeling in what once was a vase,

Holding wilted flowers bathed in brackish dreams -

You are not to blame – everyone would pour water into a flame.

Puzzle the pieces together,

Maybe they can still make sense as a mosaic,

Maybe it makes me less erratic, more prosaic?

Now that I think about it – it all started with a stained glass bloom.

Love, fake-smiles and melancholy,

They constantly flow out of me,

Follow the rivulet, let its wings carry you, but don’t get wet,

Speak to the pupas and ignore their pain,

Cut them open, dodge the red rain, then set the larvae free.

Are they still eating away at me?

08/2024