Your Victim, Your Witness

I've always been on your side.

Your friend, your lover,
your bedside mirror—
my slow erasure.

It’s your oblivion:
to remain hidden.

All that is inside
your flesh and bone
is yours alone.

But what shows
is only skin.

Mirror, mirror,
I see a dark projection—
a silhouette of a hand in prayer.

Is it yours?
Is it mine?

A mime before the One,
rehearsing forgiveness.

I’ve always been on your side.

Just faceless eyes

behind a two-way mirror—

your victim, your witness,

never certain:

what was this?

Watching your dark hands
cast shadows
of familiar monsters.

I don’t ask your confession,
or offer your absolution.

My hands are not cleansed.
Dirt remains
where nails bore grievances.

Keep your hands folded:

as if without guilt,

as if without sin.

I’m not here to win.

I’d give it all to lose

if I could wake by you again.

I've always been on your side.

But if you hang your cross

on the door

and make me sleep on the floor,

your beliefs still won’t pass

by divine osmosis.