sdrawkcablla

AN IMAGE OF ONES-SELF


The dew,

In the mirror.

Are the memories,

Which I fear.



All though,

Instead of clearing.

The resemblance,

Is smearing.



Though the image,

I see.

I know,

To be me.



It is troubling,

Not to see.

The man,

I wanted to be.



So as denial,

It sets in.

I wipe,

Yet again.



As my image,

I start to hate.

I know not,

How to clean the slate.



And untill,

I can.

I'm forced to resemble,

This other man.



Leaving me,

In a blinding haze.

As if traped,

In an endless maze.