In the mirror

 

In that mirror,

a practised smile.

Yeah, I’m fine.

Face in denial.

Smile... Too wide.

Smile... Too toothy.

Smile... Too thin.

None are fitting.

The eyes

not joining in

with the way

the cheeks are lifting.

The eyes

showing

only blank

dark voids inside,

like the deepest

ocean of a heart that

collapsed and died.

 

In that mirror,

a practiced pretender

puts on a mask.

The perfect disguise.

A contender for the grand prize.

The clown that secretly cries,

the joker in a pack of lies,

the smile that rises but never

gets higher than the waterline.

And that sinking feeling

floods over eyes again,

drowning in solitude

over the love which sits

in a throne room

a million miles from him.

The queen of hearts,

and her perfect grin.

 

In that mirror,

choreographed hellos

fade into brick wall goodbyes.

And smiles never lie,

except when they are painted on

in precision,

by an expert at hiding it all inside.

A practiced speech

that won’t ever leave

the house of his mouth.

The practiced speech

of a love that sits

forever out of reach.

 

In that mirror

depression

stares back at him,

like an old friend

waving in greeting,

only depression wears

the reflective face,

Smile... Too wide.

Smile... Too cheery.

Smile... Toothy and thin.

Depression

hides the truth within.

The love story he dare not spin,

for this story has no beginning

just an ending

with a smile fading.