Hour 7 – autumn

I covered up the mirrors.
I avoided myself the best.
I tried not to look at that demon,
Stuck so deeply, back of my brain.
Like autumn, it had come to my life.
Had promised me beauty,
Had promised me repentance.
The demon had faked a soothing breeze,
To snatch away all my golden leaves.
To tear away what had covered me up.
And here I lay, cold, bared to the world –
Barely covering my naked soul –
Buildings? Knives? Rope? Poison?

That demon, is now a graceful lady.
She wears all my gold. Glitters all around.
Looks a lot like me.
Perhaps without my black stains.
Perhaps without my criminal colours.
Feeds on guilt. Nourishes on esteem.
To some – it’s imagination, forgery.
To some – it’s eccentricity, insanity.
To me – it’s simply my poetry.

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