Just in case
you didn't look behind your mirror,
you must be warned: you are spiritually dead.
The steps you take in the night
waver.
The heart you stomp on
always dies.
I want to paint you indigo, I want to slip
a piece of your soul into the sky,
but you won't let me.
I see your face when I see mine. I remember you
when I dance on dreams and clip fairy wings.
I remember you when I destroy art and
utter profanities.
Just in case
you didn't look behind your mirror,
you must be warned: you are spiritually dead.
I can kiss you but my lips will run dry,
every river will run dry, parched. All flowers will die.
Why do you destroy everything beautiful
and create everything decadent?
You must be warned: you must be spiritually dead
when nothing whispers in your ears, nothing makes your
eyes glow like a tempest fire. Nothing rocks your world
or even moves it.
Sometimes I want to move you to a mountain with
high morals and frosted hate. Sometimes I want to force you to create.
But that wouldn't solve anything.
Because you are you. And you shall always be the mind with thoughts
from a textbook. A heart with feelings straight from Hollywood.
An individual with the nuances of your next-door neighbor.
A human with the humanity of a robot with no batteries.
Just in case you didn't look behind your mirror,
You must be warned: you are spiritually dead.