Through the Looking Glass
A withered ghost stares out from behind once familiar eyes.
That is bone that you see and I bet you could break him, but you’re afraid.
Why are you afraid? Because he would take such a beating and somehow still have that look in his eyes?
Oh, how foolish you are to confide in he who so confidently proclaims it a blessing to encase him in bonded layers of protective glitter.
How long do you think ‘til he passes, striped of contact in a sealed chamber of darkness?
That’s what really scares you, doesn’t it? – that he’ll just wait for it (the last moment of your lie) and when it comes, he’ll be only a feathered frame the slightest breeze could knock over yet he’s going to devour your flesh, strengthening with each wail until NOTHING.