Crisis

I look at a mirror
And I see
An Image
that is not me.

The beauty in the gore
just depresses me,
and I am on my knees
crying black tears.

I pick up a dry rose
that lies on the muddy floor
while I am feeling
claustrophobic.

The Beauty in the dark
just suffocates me,
and I can't breath.

I just wonder
If I am really me.
I look at that person
in a faded photograph
who looks like me.
And that person
painfully
points her hurting finger
at me.

Am I really me?
Or I am just wearing a mask
that suffocates me.
Is that mask out of control?
Have I given birth to a monster?
If so, is this monster
choking me,
or is it that
I simply don't understand myself?

The beauty in the death
just confuses me,
and I look to a big dark abyss
unsure of where
will it take me.

The red darkness
is a mixture
of darkness
with blood,
with love,
with souls that just escaped.

My heart contracts,
my heart aches,
while I feel so absent
of myself.

Am I rally absent of myself,
or needing to be?
Am I scared of myself,
or eager for a confrontation with myself?
Am I wanting Death?
Or I am feeling dead right now?

(c) Pekky Marquez 2001