her (a requiem of reflection)
the person who looks back at me has not known a fleeting second of my pain. she knows not what i think of her, how clearly i see what i wish i could change. is she pure? does she exist without sin?
i see her, preserved before me; the untouched masterpiece of a thoughtless mind. someone untainted by existence.
our bodies are doomed to rot in slow synchronicity as i plead to be understood.
i understand her though. i know i do.