the_mad_monk

Sometimes at night
when the house is quiet
and the booze flows easy
I find myself in the bathroom
staring at the mirror

i look at the face in wear
and try to find
the man i use to be

I count the scars
and trace the lines
as i gaze into the dead grey eyes
wondering if he's still there.

Beneath the stuble
of grey and white
as deaths finger pulls
at the corner of my mouth

Then i'll do my push ups
and dream
of finding someone
who'll look at me
with kinder eyes than mine