River Of Mirrors Poem by Awnstathr Rowland

Have you ever stared over a bridge and contemplated laying in the river styx? the mark of the end bruises my heart and the strikes I remember seem to fall off my skin.

My heart aches, I'm looking up, then I'm looking down; yet I'm going nowhere with these eyes that see everything, but a path within my grasp.

Furthermore, I feel so much more a scarecrow than a man, and so the weight of my pain bends, and snaps my straws, and when the crows come to peck my eyes, it hurts because I am not a scarecrow but a man.