I forever endure,
The outrage of my lessening self,
With the mirror becoming,
Yet another precise object,
I do not wish to look,
As the pain is foreseen,
Pre-emptively,












And the results,
Are ones in which I do not wish to explore,
The back of the hood,
Is much more preferable,
The hurt,
In my vein thundered eyes,
Cannot be captured,
If the face is kept away,
From those who seek,
A need to subside sudden feelings of empathy,
Then we expect no more still,
To this deafened heart,
Solitude is apparent,
And forever it will be,
The case of which no more,
Is ever expected.