Man In The Mirror

Man In The Mirror

Final seconds to what I see as my demise, 

The blood spilled around the floor, 

Bullet holes telling a tale of its own, 

With the silence being darker than the darkest hour of the night. 

Bodies piled up as a mountain, 

Waiting for the scavengers to nibble it away, 

Laying here in waste with carnage all around I think, 

Was it really worth it? 

Trusting a soul which was pure, 

Only to blame him responsible for the breach, 

Rejecting every evidence of his innocence, 

Forcing him, pushing him to the limit where he loses his sanity. 

She neglected her heart, 

Considering his kind-hearted innocence, 

As a façade which he used to fool innocent damsels, 

Breaking the very character that once defined him. 

Tormenting his life, 

By reminding him of the mistake that he never committed, 

Only to become the pole bearer for his soul, 

Leaving a cadaver for the world to witness. 

With his pure soul now reeking of alcohol, 

His life surrounded by the white syringe which he calls life, 

It was just a ticking time bomb in the making, 

Up till that night, life was just the same for him. 

But his mind had another game for him, 

Loading his Berretta only to strike down his maker for once and for all, 

Shooting in his haze of coke infused vision, 

Aiming at everything in sight only to be struck down. 

With the shots delivered to the right address, 

And the smell of blood hitting his nostrils, 

He realised the remaining torturer left in the midst of the carnage, 

it was the man in the mirror. 

That eerie silence was disrupted, 

With a shot that made a statement, 

He fell on the floor like a rag doll, 

Bleeding the venom in him,

Tainting the world with his ghastly act, 

Fell the reflection of the man in the mirror.