I wrote him off in style
at least to the ill trained eye
ill obtained through the trial of tried
and try again.

 
I was sold on washing the whites out of our eyes,
out of irises unfeeling
to reflect and strain to add commentary to the ordinary.
The contrary doesn’t exist outside our domain.

 
You’re outside your dominant typecast role
reversing your rehearsing into reality,
reeling from sealing the moment into past
shattered glass fragments forever reflecting.
While we’re forgetting, flesh is getting torn and cold.
Soon has been sold

 
Two coins for him.
I’m going home.