a new year.

in the distance
there is color. sound.
a joyous celebration
of firecrackers, pachelbal's canon, and a dog named dorothy
but i cannot see past these tears
transiently captured by a glass wall
dripping. evaporating into nothing
sipping into my mind
playing over and over
draining the picture of its colors
trapping the melody in a vacuum

flowing down my cheeks.
the horizon is blurry and bleak

i am a mirror
with no semblance of substance
continuously reflecting, never its own
nonexistent on my own
will i forever remain in this perpetual state of uncertainty?
where "nothing is real, everything is imagined"?
a place of dreams
"only a sleeper considers it real"?
will you one day wake up from la casa?
the break of dawn shattering the promises of the night
chasing shadows into the depths of crevices