3/3

I look into her green eyes and wonder how someone so familliar can be so foreign to me.
I can see the cigarette burns on her clothes. The cuts on her legs.
She's paler than normal. I know she's tired, and I know she feels the strain.
She tells me this often.
Right now we are at two different stations.
I'm standing on platform at Angel, heading north-bound.
She's slouching against the barriers at Crossharbour in ripped tights, smoking a joint.
Just waiting; her train came off the rails.
I can see passion in her eyes, but its not for the good things.
It's for poisons and toxins; flesh and substance.
The night to my day; she's full of sex drugs rock and roll.
I've tried over and over to make her see what I see, but some feelings can't be harnessed for the better.
I want her to be more like me, I know life would become more simple then.
Part of me wishes I didnt know her.
Part of me wishes it was just me, alone.
But we come as a pair and we co-exist. This will always be set in stone.
From day one we battled with eachother, who was older.
Who was stronger, who was the more honest.
Who is more genuine?
I stand here looking at her, with the scars on my arms from the mistakes she has made.
I'm not to blame, but it's my fault. She's my fault.
Still, I will take it out on me, I always will.
Our blood and pain will always be shared.
It's hard to forget, but I try.
Each time I see this.
I think this is the last time, the sunset to sunrise, but I'm never right.
This is my goodbye.
I see her; a partially broken being; roughed up, incomplete, lost and confused.
Each time I wonder if things will ever change.
I wonder if they will get easier.
I wonder when it will stop being me and her, and will just become us.
Perhaps it will become either/or.
Each time I see her, I pity her.
Then I shut my eyes. Breathe in, tell myself that this is me.




















Then I walk away from the mirror.