Why can I not recognize

Through searching eyes

That person in the mirror?

 

Eyes dead,

Mouth red

From the constant wane of worry.

 

How long ago,

Did I have a glow

Of youth and euphoria?

 

A Skelton,

Limbs made of gelatin

With wine rimmed fingernails.

 

Full of hope was I

Without tears to cry

About year or so.

 

Gone be another year,

A life full of fear

Of myself and other demons.

 

The world hits me in the face,

searching comfort through an empty embrace

I find nothing but heartache.

 

Perhaps I will grow taller,

Dressed in blue collar

And find happiness in the finer things.