The Mirror

The mirror will steal your soul.
As you complacently stare into the dirty glass,
A thin wispy voice travels from someone else's head
Into the smoky atmosphere.
The speed of light is oh so slow
For by the time you see your image
That body's gone,
That face is covering some other brain,
Wax whiskers and ceramic eyes
At the storefront for some other business.
Bubbles of meaning float in the air,
Trying to find their way home
In a forest of carelessly drawn lines
Where your mind will get lost
In the deep end of an injured pool of water.
It's all reflected back and forth
From day to day and week to week
As synapses fire anxiety over future
And doubt over past,
As the mirror keeps a straight face
But tells nothing but lies.