Mirrors Poem by jordan erickson

An angel he is
that word he doth rebel
but no matter how much he despises
he is now and forever an angel

He choses his words carefully
as if he's walking upon eggshells...
as if the wrong words said
it is a bomb... deadly

At night he weeps
when they are asleep
the memories he keeps
make him see that he'll never be free.

tremors rake his body ever so fragile
he stands with his knife in hand
he stares for just a little while
in his chest his heart beats like a mad mans.

In his mind they seem to cry
all of them with faces so pale...
the ones he watched die
they seem o tell their tales

he looks around almost lost
the knife shakes as he listens to
the voice takes control... he is engrossed
he wishes for his color to fade to ashy blue.

in the mirror he sees me
at eachother we stare
both shocked and fear
from the knife that we bare.