When I look into the mirror

I do not see my face

I see the ghosts behind me,

Trailing blood and lace.

 

I excuse my misapprehension,

I apologise for my fault,

I'd love to fully explain

My face, my persona, my whole gestalt.

 

But I aint a good prose writer

I cannot see the end

I  always hear the thunder,

It is deep within my heart,

Trying to tear me apart

One day it will succeed

And then I'll be dead,

Indeed.