That stain

The silver that coats the glass

Is wearing off,

Turning to a brown gray,

In the steam of the ages.

What has this mirror seen

In so many years of service?

Many days of irritation,

Of talking to myself.

Of anxiously brushing teeth,

Cause there’s nothing left,

And no hope.

That guy , changing,

Cracking,

Breaking,

Bleeding,

The outer layers, cut.

And inwardly,

turning in hollow looks,

Seeing the pupils,

And asking what’s behind.

That is the mirror seeing,

And me seeing through,

Projecting aimlessly,

Posing, to myself,

But stupid all the way down

To the core.

Cracked,

Wearing out,

Like those expanding

Stains of silver oxide,

And steamed glass.