Mirrors of Wrath


If you or a loved one is suicidal, please call The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (1-800-273-TALK [8255]). 

Mirrors of Wrath

A poem by me in the style of T.S. Elliot


Tenderly she cries

As days become darker

And nights become fonder


The pills, they coaxed

The blade, it sliced

It sliced, it sliced

But what of these walls?

But what of shoe laces and silly things?


In the midsummer’s night, she professed

A tear sliced down her cheek

But better a tear than a razor?


Better to have her first kiss with death

Than he who cared

But a kiss prevented

In that midsummer’s night


The rain never ceased even

When the white walls left

Even when the River ran dry, the rain never stopped.


But the leaves did dry

Crunching and crumbling under her feet

And so did her form, yet pleasantly so.

“You look amazing,” said the neighbor.

“My, what a tiny waist!”


And victoria’s secret, she learned

When nourishment became numbers.

“Lose, lose, lose,” sweet Ana soothed.

When nourishment became numbers,

We pleaded, but Ana was louder.


We pleaded but, oh Ana.

Oh, Ana what did you say?

Ana and Mia and Ed,

What do you say?


And the rain never ceased

When snow masked the frozen ground.

So a day we did drive

But what of shoe laces and silly things?

What of bracelets and open backed gowns?


Bracelets, they adorned her wrists, slices

While slices decorated her frail frame

Like lingering licks from the Serpent’s tongue

My, what a tiny waist!

No, what fat

What stretch marks and blemishes


Sweet tidings brought very little joy

As the bones disappeared

Ana was softened

But the rain, how it poured!

And Ana, how she yawped!


Her shroud became darker

As Ana became brasher

A frame of glass against the wall

A metal box beckons from the tile floor

A menacing image of desire that points and sneers

“You’re fat. You’re ugly. You’re disgusting.”


It won’t hurt, she said.

Just take enough, but not too little

‘Else your organs they will fail



And the pills how sweet they look

Rather like little candies

Like the little candies she used to eat

But fat, fat, fat is all she received in return.


Her frail frame sat once more

As she pondered the white washed hell

A silence loomed over her louder than a volcano

She pondered shoe laces

And she pondered her will


The rain still trickles

While her puddle never dries

A tempting reflection


More, more, more.



  1. Troy Photographer Hendricks i use to write too · May 5, 2017

    a very intense Read, very moving, i could feel the confusion that cause the pain. just amazing i could go on and on . GREAT

    Liked by 1 person

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