My long nose-pointed toward a silver rectangle--
Toward a silver rectangle with a flat surface
And there's a truth that it shows
In it, and there can not be two or three truths
Only one truth.
Truth that wasn't my mother's words.
I revert to those words when i don't like the answer-the mirror shows.
Fogged up after a long shower,
Under the cover of fog: i can hide but
I am still there.
I am not able to rub the truth from the surface
I can only walk away from the silver glass.
No comments:
Post a Comment