"This is who you are"
I say, tugging and scratching at the image in the mirror
I don't feel contempt.
Dry and patchy skin. A flesh palace.
For water, blood and whatnot
Can put holes in it. Decorative. Or deadly.
Wouldn't fix the toothy grin though. Even a sneer wouldn't.
My cheek is sore, so I stop pinching.

My problem.
Is the soul behind it.
The ****** past the eye.
Ripping anything out wouldn't help.
He leers at me when I look.
And he answers in my voice.
"You got nothing else. "