The End

With a sense of irony the only thing that can be done is to drown ourselves in poison while still looking forward. We can talk about you because you make it so easy. Ridiculously easy.
The guilt that was there has disappeared, replaced with an undying sarcasm to your mundane existence.
You've been left behind, funny when with the circumstances
but now you're alone and I don't feel bad, not a single bit.
Because you see, you're a mirror. There is nothing changing about you at all except for which direction you're facing and who looks into your eyes, nothing but their own black pupils staring back at them but cheapened, watered down.
You've been outed so let's move on.
Okay? Okay.