Untitled #66

"Can't seem to recognize that stare behind those eyes"

It is  now that I pine most,
For the days of old,
When everything was simple,
When I could still look myself in the mirror
Without feeling like a complete fraud,
A total fabrications of circumstance.

Yet here I am,
A fraction of what I once was,
Praying for those golden summer days
And the crisp Autumn nights,
Reduced to nothing more
That a monster in a pane.

We all have to face our demons
And mine's staring right through me.
He knows that I am a facade
But I can't quite make out who he is.

Author's Note

3/31/09