As the storm subsides
Outside, an internal wave erupts
With the fiendish glow of the fire
Captured in the flick of his wrist

While our lungs savor the sweet nectar of new life
An old one manifests in the worn silverware
That never new how to stack correctly
I never knew how either
But he thought that I did

As opportunity begins its beautiful mitosis
The needles of yesterday stick and slash 
And fill our veins with a terminal complacency
His heart always withstood the injections
Until it succumbed, as hearts do 

As the mirrors project prisms of vibrant color 
Into the broken room,
Their sturdy frames neglect 
The weight of their actions
And he latches to his own throat
In an attempt to see the colors

He does not see the colors.
I see them though,
Or at least he thinks I do

Oh well.