Broken Promises

Winter night of stars and light. An empty glass stands as the past. I see myself in the reflection staring back. Sharded image colored like ice… it is me. Each image a perfect imagination and yet they have reality’s eyes. I slay them slowly to remember the pain. It is not a demon, it is me. And with that acceptance I look not to the sky. I look at myself.


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11 Responses to Broken Promises

  1. Intense, to realise that there is no demon and yet not shy away. Potent.

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