The stranger in the mirror wears my clothes,
although they’re tighter on her.
My diamond hangs round her neck.
She has different eyes:
Soft grey; a touch of storm.
Clear and deep;
Their murky film washed away.
She told me her name once,
and I laughed.
It didn’t fit anymore.
The sadness tapers off,
and the stranger
is stranger still.
I’ve learned that hell is grey.
That the brimstone is cold and sharp.
That the devil himself weighs ten pounds;
And he sits in your stomach for months on end;
Setting cold fires;
Caressing your gut with his long,
He leaves you through the mouth;
Through the eyes.
He shakes you as he passes;
With talons in your nerves,
Leaving a trail of bile in places it doesn’t belong.
And when he is free;
He holds you safe
In a little box;
And he shakes you like an empty can;
And he sets you down disoriented on strange ground.