Black Mirror


 Image Credit: alexandra135


Themes of death seeped

into my dreams as a child

streams of existential guilt

flowing into scenes of judgement

and descents into an eviscerating eternity.

Over and over.


Maturity first bred weariness,

Deep in teenage flux,

Twisting through the purpose of my time,

Preordained or to be determined,

My thoughts anchored in morbidity.

"For I did not choose to be."


Alas I did not implode, but rather,

Surrendered to the fevers of thought,

A victim reduced to mere survival,

till the burden set me free.

Now impassioned by mortality I see...


It was a black mirror to peer inside,

To find joy where I once cried.