(No) Happiness

these shoulders
bear too many spaces
wide, dead spaces
which hurt in too many mirrors
in too many ways

reflections have become a hideous stare
my features are mere contortionists
more prepared than ever
to entertain the mob waiting outside
leaning on circuits of despair

in every scenario that takes shape
I die cynically and am born again
only to die once more.
I die relentlessly
holding passion between my teeth
feeling its nectar stream all over my body
its lost perfume of fulfilment
released deep into my nostrils

with no joy to raise me above
the rope of agony
there are few clues left
to save a player of hangman

Oct. 2012