I stand under bathroom light,
mirror emblazons
a mask of lies. My life in
imposter syndrome dreams
across my eyes .
As the echoes
of days limp on by.
In the dim lit night
every drop of red,
bled from ground down gums,
appears like ink
smearing the sink in memories,
that only come when the
gravelly voice that screams
back at me, gently weeps.
Wishing to be
cleansed of the self-doubt
in every word he speaks.
Late nights
and distressed
dreams
sit in bags
beneath the eyes,
spilling their contents
over the cold floor.
The rush of water
floods my mind
and inside I’m drowning
under the interrogating lights
of this torture cell,
lungs filling with
the burning pain of a scream
that I can’t let out.
For if I do, more water will pour in.
Age worn eyes stare at
the reflection, glaring back at me.
The confidence
that once bathed me,
now circles the plughole
before it gurgles,
mimicking my voice.
The face staring back
seems older than
the years account for.
More than the Calander pages
torn up across the floor.
Bloodshot blue eyes
sit under greying highlights.
Age draining
the remaining colour
down the sink.
Leaving only
a faded memory
wilting in place,
whispering as days
gurgle away.
I turn the taps full
and take a swimming handful,
brimming through fingertips as
I splash across my face.
Washing away the fear,
I look to the face and whisper
in softened tones,
getting old?
Not on your life.
Just wiser.
And I smile,
turning off the light
and step outside.
The mirror a lie, when my heart
has eternity on its side.
No comments:
Post a Comment