Midnight Reflections

Yeah. Check. Midnight in the mirror, man.

Talk to me. The ceiling fan just cuts the silence into slices. Another empty evening,

paying psychic prices. Smile in the frame, but the eyes know the treason.

A sunny day forecast, but it's forever freezing inside. They ask,

"You good?" I just nod, a robotic function. The soul's on mute,

drowning in the noise of the junction. Scroll through the highlights,

a curated fiction. While my own reflections a heart skip affliction. Got a pocket

full of dreams, but they feel like lint. A slowed down tempo where the