I am myself

for better or for worse.

My eyes are my own

they've seen what I've seen.

My hair, scented with cigarettes and expensive shampoo

The grey has started to settle in.

Oddly familiar characteristics we may share;

although we've seen different things
our eyes look the same.

our hair, perfumed by the same stresses

Both having beared the burden of thinking to exhaustion

a plague and a gift, to think of him

I am like you,

somehow.