Before a rose colored mirror
Blue orbs tracing devotely
Not their reflection, but the jagged canyons
Curling from the edges, like roots
Repentantly sprouting to hide  a corpse.
Red meteors plummet in slow motion from fingertips
Of a reflection, as he stands before the cracks,
Feeling the wet truth of their cause in his palms.
On the floor, his eyes meet
His eyes gazing up from a jagged island of glass
Finding himself only with head bowed, in
A broken past mistake.
7 years bad luck.
Do you think he knows,
That behind the veins,
There's more than blood?
I do.