ego death

someone else in the mirror;

i'm sad, but worse:

i'm lonely

and while sadness has grabbed me

by the throat

before,

loneliness i've never held

it turns out its hands are cold,

as expected

but colder still are its fingernails

as they dig into my palm,

as they scrape across my back,

as they break skin

my loneliness and i,

we’re in the mouth of a volcano

does it mean anything that it’s dormant?

it still draws blood, like magma,

it still threatens death