Past killers

I’m looking through the mirror,

My hand up to the glass.

I’m hoping that I’ll see something,

I hope I’ll see the past.

And just as I had hoped,

I see all of my mistakes,

They reach out of the mirror,

causing the cold hard glass to break.

Grabbing on my neck,

My past is gripping tightly.

My nerves all disappear,

Their grip loosening slightly.

And when all of my mistakes go back inside the mirror,

I lay on the cold ground lifeless,

But I couldn’t see more clearer.