The Teen with teen

Sometimes I look in the mirror and my reflection

is an imperfection of the soul that lies between those ears.

Long hair or cut, tattooed or none,

will my true reflection ever come anon?

Will I ever know who I really am,

with bloodied hands, I shout god-damned.

Many men are dying and I will not be like them,

I will carry my little black backpack, and all my precious emotion;

Despite every year of growing old and colder,

That little black backpack sits on my slim teen shoulder.

I am an adult and now I see

The world no longer lower,

but still I sit, bloodied and damned,

With the black backpack choking my shoulder.