A Letter From The Mirror

A Letter From The Mirror

You are the ugliest man alive.
The loneliest set of eyes,
Worthless as a penny.
The world spent more energy to make you,
To spit you into existence,
Than you can ever repay, ever make up for.
You sit on a throne of regret
Surveying your millions of failures from afar,
Distanced only by denial.
A winding road from your sullied feet
Stretches out through the prostate masses of doubt
To the river of fear.
It flows abundantly,
Majestically, the only thing of any value in your kingdom
Of sorrows, built with the sweat of pestilent slaves,
Running from your every pore. Your every breath
Is a curse to this great land you have invaded
By reluctant force, unsure of every decision you waffle
On and on about, scared of all circumstances, each possibility
It’s own infinite well of sacrilegious love.

I approach the mirror in the dark. I brush my teeth by the moonlight, dirtied and dimmed by the opaque window above, filtered down from magnificent to just enough. I swish the water in my mouth—the faint taste of led and minty paste—before spitting it out, spilling it from my lips unto the basin below, it too stained and in disrepair. Why turn the light on? Why see the words, when I can already hear them, like the falling water from the faucet, cold and lifeless, meaningless in this form. Spit swish spit. Turn the knob to the right. Close the door. Cover my head with threadbare sheets. Dream of a day lived fully.

~ by kevinthomas on March 17, 2009.