My mind has become a ransacked mausoleum
Memories once preserved in a reverential sanctity
Are torn grotesquely
It is hard to believe that this could be a temple
Desecrated now, the folly of a menace
Tasteless graffiti
The man in the mirror peers at me
Through vacant eyes and features gaunt
His lips contort to a sullen smirk
And form some voiceless, tasteless taunt
That all throughout the dawning day
His voice might resonate and haunt
The man in the mirror hides from me
With eyes like bolted doors
Concealing all the well sought truths
Of which no mortal can be sure
But fret about with sinking hearts
Til, tired of thinking, take the cure
The man in the mirror jeers at me
Recites ambitions unattained
Presents potential accolades
Then mocks my efforts, all in vain
I hear his laughter, clear and cruel
As I'm punctured by a perfect pain
The man in the mirror cries with me
Such sympathetic tears
Each day he lives and dies with me
A crucifixion of hopes and fears
That resurrect in sleepless nights
To grind my psyche's weakened gears
The man in the mirror laughs at me
He knows I know him not
Each certainty a pretense
Or some fable that was taught
Constructing frail philosophies
From broken beams diseased with rot
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