An Assortment Of Words

At a Glance

I have the look of being caught

in my headlights.

With a Porcelain, too tight grip

on someone else's sink,

In an unfamiliar tonight, surely not mine.

With suspense I watch,

my shiny doppelgänger,

speckled with blurred pops of light and

the sultry spray of speech slurred.

All the while suspicious, knowing, surely,

that those sad, water colour eyes cannot be mine.

They patronise reality, fabricate anxiety,

dark, devious pupils who blossom to engross

their ostentatious potential in the unruly,

undignified acceptance of youth.

A bitter paradise, the self promised eternity,

within a mind as brittle and crooked

as the glasses resting too close

to the bridge of my nose.

I see this is not wonderland,

but the eyelash on my cheek

promises they are close,

And the heat of a riot threatening within,

A self titled Icarus, ignites at the sight,

of this image's features, and sorrowful eyes,

and im no longer sure if they're theirs of they're mine