What musings have you evening mirror?
Do you wish to point out imperfection, around every shadowed
unforgiving corner of my carcass?
Is this indeed your intention? Or, what you do by design?
Perhaps it’s the light
The pale fluorescent, bastardised moon, breeding late night
lunacy in the shit house
Mosquito friendly light, providing sanctuary and a sense of
belonging to the vein critters
Yet the vanity in front of me offers me nothing, no sense of
home, as those lucky little things suck away what little I have left, as I sit paralysed
on a pearly white hell
Have you chosen microscopic vampires over me on purpose? Is
this indeed Lunacy? Or, what you do by design.
I once gazed at the lonely moon searching for companions and
answers
Now I stare blank faced at the Gemini mounted above the sink,
unravelling untold and endless questions with the toilet roll
This dank, dripping sense of false nature can rarely kill a
man, unless he slips, or pushes too hard
At the push of a button, the rancid fake porcelain gives
birth to torrents of gushing waterfalls, washing my bodily sins away, clearing
my mind and quelling my insecurities
Did you choose to free me from this lavatory universe and the
world inside my mind
Or, is it just your function and part of your design?
