Canvas and Lead

Staring in a broken mirror
Shadows playing on my face
The dancing light in my eyes
Is simply the reflection from the
Flickering candle by my side.
It drips, hot wax seeping down
To coat my fingertips
The searing sensation quickens
Only my nerves, for it is no
Release now, not since I stopped
Six years ago, in hopes that
These calloused and scarred hands
Would hold someone close.
Those sturdy, strong hands
Have no power left in them
As they hang pathetically, useless
At my sides, unable to even
Wipe away my own
Hot, angry tears carving their path
Down my dirty face.
What more of a joke can a shell make
when they have worn themselves bare?
Shame, a foreign thought in a
nightmare besieged insomnia-ridden brain.
Once left dying, but not dead
A young, troubled soul,
Canvas and lead.