A heart that beats in the cold, never seen, but heard clearly in the winter.
The state of things, an ornament that can dangle at the lowest point
for as long as the branches allow.
Shards at the bottom, send a sense of dread, but are a story once told before.
Were they ever read? Did they even know?
I wonder sometimes. I see, but I never really try to look.
The sights are as clear and free as the wind, but what you take from them
will make you soar, or suck you in.
These are not my stories, but they are familiar. My smile is not my own
but a testament to those who look upon themselves through the mirror I provide.
Sometimes I wonder. Is there really anything else to this vessel?
There may not be, but it is fine.
I am happiest when I can smile for another, so maybe that's all that really matters for now.
Be it two or twenty eyes, I am blind, but never blinding.
Look upon me, and see what glass will never tell you.
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A Conversation with Myself
If you're not me, you'd only be here if you went out of your way to look.
Turn back, or buckle in, bucko.
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