The Mirror

I stand in front of my mirror,

I look at my visage

Those empty brown eyes,

Which were once filled with the passion of a furious mob

Those deep crevices beneath,

Which once lay high, synonymous to my hopes and aspirations

Those inky spots,

Which once dotted my face like constellations in the infinite skies above,

Those hollows around them,

Which once showed apple red, but are now ice cold and blue,

Those withering lips,

Parted with the bitter breath of fear, consuming me from the shills of my bones

Bones which shuddered and resonated with my thoughts

Thoughts which begged for forgiveness, guilt ridden

Driving to an end which is not destined

An end, which couldn't be worded well enough

Lest it wasn't heroic to be sung about

Words, stolen, harassed and left on my dry flaky tongue,

A tongue,

Which looked through my withered lips

A tongue,

Which looked past my marred face

Scarred beyond recognition,

All as I stand,

In front of my mirror.