Selfish

The dust has settled on the cold, bare floor,
The clock ticking its soporific trail,
The rain makes a river outside the door,
It washes the crumbles of the past away.

Here I stand before the mirror and see the coal-black pebbles looking back at me,
I see the ebony fire within,
I see the selfish pain once more.

The candles spin a web of light,
On the walls marked with rested backs of you and I,
Losing count of hours blissful spent in oblivion of the music outside.

The world is now coming back in sight,
The life we had forgotten for a while,
I see the shadows like a voracious blight,
And I see the selfish pain once more.