Glass.mature
Face before a mirror,
I shiver, and then I look,
I stare into my eyes,
The window of my soul,
The only place I cannot look,
Without a want to hurt,
I reduce myself to dirt,
I insult myself in this glass,
It has a part of my trapped,
I knock, I tell myself to stop,
I don’t want to now, I want
To go on, this is fun,
To abuse and to shun,
Especially when it’s what I fear.
The End
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Glass., which
was posted on Aug 7, 2010 by
joeeastwood.
This is a solo poem.
About this poem
"The eyes are the direct line to the soul, so when you're looking directly into t..."
This poem is filed under:
Mature Themes
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