The face I see through the glass,
the face that is staring at me,
is black and dark with memories
and pale with exhaust.
And I am tired.
I lay me down on a bed of velvet,
you are warm next to me.
A finger wipes my face off,
it's covered with soot and clay.
For the day is long and I always get lost,
between worlds of theirs and mine.
The face I see through the glass,
the face that is staring at me,
I can tell it was once beautiful,
that vermilion colored it's ashen face;
like a painter that would hurl his brush against a new
canvas,
showing his pain and hurt...
Brown limp curls descend sickly,
disappearing into the dark.
I disappeared once,
into the shadows of myself.
I was swallowed into the night.
Dullness is all I witness, looking straight at me.
And I will cry at night,
for the person that once was.
Gaping at the face behind the glass, begging to be let in.
I will cry in the dark.
I will always cry for you,
beauty left to die,
in the reeking swamps of life.
I can remember I saw you once,
I thought I saw you there,
a face of pure beauty and naive,
flushed with rapture.
Thick curls of chestnut,
and a laughter that disappeared and died away-
into the crowd of voices.
And I beg you to tell me why.
Why I cannot break the glass and touch you.
to cry on your shoulder
and wash the dirt away.
For I know a face of agony,
and beauty that once filled it.
As we lie upon our bed of velvet
and you touch me.
wipe away my tears.
I remember how once I lay upon a bed of dust.
You will never be able to touch me,
or remember my face,
when I will be looking at you,
and you, you through the glass.