It was empty
Nothing but glass
Broken and smeared
With stains of time and rust of tears
It didn't look the same
Not as it once had
In better days
Before the cracks and chips
If not for the reflections it would be bare
I think it shouldn't matter it's broken and old
The images are twisted now
Perhaps it's more real that way
So many lies in mirrors
Better to look at one broken and smeared
It'll paint you as you are rather than how you think you appear.