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Esteem of Glass
By Parag Mallik
I can wrap minds around few words as I hold hands and pour voices into my ears over the
pale rays at sunrise. I don't understand the pain in my chest severing my body into unequal halves that sometimes scream in anger.
Your compliments slide over my shoulders and fall down to my ankles and I don't understand mirrors when they try to talk—telepathy flowing through the winds awakening a soul which is at conflict within myself. But when am I not?
Is it just me leaning over the cliffs in my mind
to talk to myself as I thump at the glass wall between us separating a clash of contrasts that desire to blend.
I stare into the glass outlining the silhouette within, as it glows dark along the edges, purple acid flowing out of perimeters, sculpting that body into a person I try to be, everyday.
Splitting, cracking, tapping along the bones, violet shields clouding my eyes, barring the vision of the person I want to be.
Tall legs, clean eyes, lean arms, holding together the joints of perfection, happiness gleaming out of every bone, cracks healing in succession as clouds begin to sway.
Reality shines through, leaving the cracks- never mended, the laughter—hollow and the mirror—broken glass.