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There is no spoon
In the convex silver
lies a pair of coal
black eyes shrouded in
the utter perplexity of
finding themselves enraptured
by another pair of emerald greens
as if they'd never been seen before.
Wishing to break the veil
to touch the beguiling stranger within
as he smiles grimly knowing
his days in his sliver of sefety
are numbered and swiftly falling
towards destruction encased
by his counterparts heedless fist.
I'll never really understand
why this spiritually emaciated
figure that bears my resemblance
yet is nothing of my likeness
decides to spend his worthless life
trapped in a metal box
faking smiles for an audience
of one lonely man
thats forgotten his name
that resides within
inky deadpools.
