His mirror now offended him, driving him mad.

The fool who appeared to him, didn’t look sad.

There was no remorse, on that pale face.

Just the grin of an idiot, one lost in space.

His eyes looked so empty, no longer blue.

No sign of intelligence, blank, through and through.

His smile looked evil, a rictus of death.

His nostrils were flaring, expelling bad breath.

He should be crying, he had no real tears.

He didn’t realize, the mirrors smoke had cleared.

He now saw reality, a sick, twisted old man.

Seeing his reflection, he turned tail and ran.

At least he tried to, his feet wouldn’t work.

He stumbled and fell, like a bumbling old jerk.

later they found him, curled up on the floor.

Whispering, whimpering, no more, no more.

His drugs had worn off, he’d lost his buzz.

He went into shock, seeing just who he was.

His name was Brandon, He was telling himself.

He was robust and hale, the picture of health.

D.L. Crockett — 5/24/22