I cringe at what I see,
reflected cleanly, though
****** battered and useless.
The breath wasted on
such a life form is quite
simply astronomical;
astounding how pathetic
impressions turn out to be.
Hearts keep aching and
faking, just praying someone
will take heed, take the
lead on the excavation
of that diamond in the rough
that I so clearly see
hovering over the bathroom sink.
If the chiseling and the
scraping doesn't dissolve
the diamond altogether;
if the diamond exists
at all.
And if it doesn't
no great loss, merely
a few chipped tools
and a burdened mirror;
always left to survey
and report upon the
damage of a plummeting
self image reflection.
I've never wanted a rock
to weigh me down, anyway.