What the Mirror Doesn't Show

I stand beneath the winking of shaded heavens, holding fast to the brilliance of the moon

As it seizes me within its gravity and pulls me to its core

My breath is obvious against the night like the fight of a December rain and the warm air of June

Nightingales serenade the dark with a deafening hush

Oleander breath spoils my skin, infecting my veins like an inferno

The last remaining wish above darts across in a rush

Only strength I have stems from habitual obligation, I know

Kindness is seen as nothing more than a weakness, or

An invitation for something more

You don't, however, know me as you did before