Karma in the mirror

It's as if the killed are still alive, more alive than anything, slaves to forever living in the grasping lore of their final gestures of surrender and— I mean the people like Martin, Malcolm, and Kennedy, and the synapses they blend, the morbidity they solve for glory in a matter of hurried will. Death is like orgasm that way, why they equate them in French as petit mort, why they are able to make peace with eternity over there, it's as if no one trembles in Paris but everyone is shook. I woke up weeping, maybe a child in my womb maybe just will and idea in love inside me, in a room with a view, through the eyes of a man, I'm trying to see myself as true and that helps me understand what truth means to a man. Something you leave to get to. I congratulate myself again. The more I integrate my conscious and subconscious minds the less paranoid I am. How can you be afraid of the shadow you prayed awake, the human race begs itself to wake up and answers with self-destruction, as if the only way we trust ourselves is ruined and remade. Less and less paranoid because we are a cycle so common we seem linear and clean. And the sniper up there on her perch is just the wife or fiancé of some man I loved and left with to prove it. It didn't matter to me that he was married, or a belonging. Love is the law we all follow or perish, that matters to me, the following eyes of even the most erratic duty are laced with streams of love. There are only a couple and it'll happen again. I only love the one and it happens again and again. Damage begs for repair or referendum more than anything thought can hem. I want to tell them it was an act of generosity, that running isn't abstract, that this is their chance to run, everyone's, become a lonely woman who broke the trance of living life without taking any chances and is ecstatic even if forlorn on tuesdays, awake on Mars like saviors and addicts are awake on starlight. A hero. Am I the only one. What is a chance though, a split second of honesty these days and the world closes in on itself like a mirror.