Little Man, little voice
that screams so softly
that others won't hear.

Little Man, that whispers
not half as sweetly
as bitter, dry tears.

Hiding there, in the bathroom mirror.
He bears my face,
and wears my voice.
I scramble for him,
and off he goes
to muddy my coffee cup.

Waiting there, in the office corner.
One more mistake,
a useless choice.
I cower from him.
He jangles in  
my face a dirt hourglass.

Awful thing, please let me sleep.
Little Man: I love you so.