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The fists are bleeding.
Both of them.
Angry at everything.
Sad about everything.
All the worlds lined up into the one.
And it is intertwining.
Into an otherwise seperated soul.

All the blame.
All the pain.
All the rage.
Directed back into myself.
You, who exist in the worlds parallel.
You cannot learn fully of the magnitude.
That has gripped the one that bears all.

Two mirrors reflect the liquid skies of my own.
One is the multiple souls and worlds of mine.
Each instance that occurs through me.
They change subtly in the others.
People I see here may not be noticed in another.
The actions taken fade into a dull mist of non-occurance.
And the presence of emotions become void in a vortex.

The other mirror is a soul of a likened essence.
An opposite, in the solar or lunar light.
Yet mysterious under observation.
Nothing can see past the clouds.
But I can see what falls from their skies.
Darkened storms lurk during the clear blue.
And mounted pressure from scathing winds and rain.

Both mount inmeasurable pain within me.
And the storms slowly will become inevitable.
Let it pass so the liquid skies do not seep through the cracks.
Those within the glass that hold myself in place.
Do you believe that liquid sky can ravage the world?
Then avoid the land that treads close to the water mirroring it.
For the damage will surely render you asunder.