Verisimilitude

hard to believe I've written 140 poems. I'm glad. maybe one day I can make a book of these for myself? I'd...really like to do that, now...

it's like a shiver
-no wait, not really:
it's like a shudder-
an involuntary action that makes me
flinch and duck my head.
I close my eyes, take two steps back,
and think of leaving.
because in the background lies
sets of production's past.
and in the forefront lurks the sighs and words
of music, books, syllables.
meager lines left on the stage with dust and props.
words spoken.
a voice, a scripture.
is there anything new here? anything
alive here, blooming, groomed and beautiful here?
I look in a mirror and I can see it, but
I don't really care about it.
(at least not in the sense that it doesn't matter what I see)

Author's Note

I'm not too sure what this is about. I have more theatre mentions, too. What do you think it means, what do you see in it?

picture is by CodeAires on deviantart
http://codeaires.deviantart.com/art/Mirrors-98934814?q=boost%3Apopular%20in%3Aphotography%2Fabstract%20mirrors&qo=1