I Am Anything But Dorian Grey

yeah...just some stuff I'm thinking about... or to be accurate, reflecting on :)

Read me backwards
through a mirror
so I can see the sickness
and stitch it together again.
This poison kills me slowly.
How am I still living?
Backwards. Right.
I'm sick of reliving things again.
I'm living backwards. I'm trying.
Because my wounds won't reappear,
they just heal and fade to scars.
There are many stretched across my palm,
invisible, but they're not gone.
Just a memory to reflect on.
And reflect.
And reflect.
Because if mirrors never lie (if paintings never lie),
I'm healing, not dying,
I swear, I'm not lying,
I cross this line but I'm back again.
I'll try again.
No, I will again. I promise.
So if this mirror tells me anything,
it's that I'm not giving in.
Not even if the surface has cracked.

Author's Note

should it be anyone instead of anything? I'm not sure, but I rather like it the way it is.