7 September 2011

Reflections of a 26 Year Old

I look through the mirror and wonder at what I see
Staring back at me through tired eyes
And wearing skin

I write words on mobile phones and I can't help but think
Am I as fake as I feel

Does my incessant need to explore the depths of this
Constant aching husk mean anything
Is any of it real

I write in scattershot day dreams to see what sticks
Probably 10% of it is okay

I'm ageing... I can feel it creeping in from the gut up
Doors keep on closing but in their wake there remains
The few unopened

I write about these few remaining paths
Out of desperation

Perhaps if I owned a typewriter or a little book
I would feel more secure

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