Writers and écriture

In fear of what you'll see,
this mirror is a painting
colored with memories
of your dying life.

In death and pain,
toi see it clear,
thou these memories
are suppressed by
the blaze of unseen days.

Days that crave for smile,
but buried par the darkness
of your own.

Your dying life is still here,
impersonal and black,
this clock shows no time
for you, for your time has
stopped a long ago.

In memories of old,
toi feed your tortured soul
with the same smell that
smothers your thoughts,
as your figure is terrified
to see your dying will.
The mirror has been covered
with curtain for years,
for your eyes are never going
to be able to see
this dying life within.