“Do I exist?”

I stand in front of the mirror,

Face pressed close.

Sallow skin shadowed

By an unknown host.

“Can you see me?”

The glass is clean and clear

Of the ruinous figure before it,

Of the red eyes, swollen and puffy,

Haunted by a creature, unseen.

I screamed, “did you hear it?”

My dry lips hung open,

Chapped and leaking a salty substance

That danced on my tongue.

“Who am I then?”

If not a figure in the mirror,

Then some phantom spirit lost,

Trapped on holy ground 

Made cursed by its own tread.

“Am I bothering you?”

It hurts me,

As my teeth pierce the flesh,

To think of silent sobs

From the soul beneath the skin.

“Does it hurt you?”

I wonder while the needles sink deep.

I feel my soul on fire,

Wrapped and restrained

By my black wiry veins.

“Would you miss me?”

I am nothing, not even dust and shadow.

My presence holds no sway.

Not in the tresses of your mind,

Nor the pulsing chamber of your heart.

“Should I go?”

My head falls,

A mass of bone unsustained.

A heart unbeating

Murmurs no refrain.