On the mirror,
he now turns his back,
stumbling on his way,
a far cry from the heady times;
the smiles of yesterday.

The tumbler in his hand
now holds a halo of revolt,
the stain and stagnant smell
of yet another single malt.

Glancing o'er his shoulder
at the man within the frame,
his bane; his timeless nemesis,
who mocks him with his shame.

In a moment of pure rage,
he turns and throws the glass.
The mirror explodes,
a shameful shower
of hate and bile, en-masse.

A million mournful memories
of a lifetime built on lies,
the torn and shattered remains
of a face he now defies.

Collapsing to the carpet,
head bowed low within his hands,
a silent cry now claws the hearts
of those who understand

Yet still his mind is tempted
by just one final look,
at the shards of glass
now lying shattered;
forlorn and so forsook.

But the pit of his stomach
turns cold with such a dark
and fearsome fright,
at the vista lying before him;
a haunting, sadistic sight.

Each shard of glass,
now a life of it's own,
there's a realisation
and woeful moan.

So many more mocking faces
staring up and out at him.
Taunting him and teasing,
with malevolent little grins.

Broken far beyond all hope,
to the corner of the room
he crawls,
and in a foetal position,
like a child, bereft,
to his soul he openly bawls!

Written by Darren Scanlon, 20th March 2016.
© 2016 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.


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