It's pointless to fear what we do not understand.
Thought is not to be trusted in the least,
Yet here I, alone and mishappen, stand.

A demon stands before me, warped and blurred.
She is sick and wounded, broken from the world's
Insessive lust for innocent yet guilty murder.

She is so fragile yet looks so sturdy and strong.
A face of stone and marble to hide paper promises
Others have been breaking for so long.

I reach out my own hand to touch her face,
Maybe to save her from the flames around us,
Maybe to return her forlorne form to grace.

Then I realize with saddening, sickening horror
That she reaches out as well, just as I do...

Then I realize that I am simply looking into a mirror.

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