Insta-Poetry 6

Mirror me,
cat's cradle trapeze.
Mirror. Me.
I'm hooks, in your skin.
Mirror, me.
Berate, or appease.
Mirror (me).
You're already in.

Shamble of a body, 
network made of shale.
I am only pigment
brushed into detail.
Creator of the moment,
agency of palette.
Living for the present
whither has my heart went?

Nothing but a fucking feeling.
Short of breath, without a plan.
I'm not dead, you are healing.
My center stumbles, drags me down.
Crippled by an incantation,
"Damn it", couldn't sound so sweet.
I'll never know the same elation,
pour my love into the street.