Must I die a painful death to become renown? Must I fall under a bridge for my name to be printed? Will my words rot in a room that passes by many eyes? Will my body become a monument of an age? I fail to thrive in a world full of the dead and live in a world where my life is threatened by the vast colors.
I watch my feet walk by the glass mirrors and I see my shoes go through each mirror, growing old and dark. But my mind never ages. The mirrors grow bigger and my life becomes smaller. Only at the beginning of the very first small mirror do I feel my life expanding. I am bigger and I will grow.
No comments:
Post a Comment