I turned up to gaze at the mirror
seems like my consciousness stares straight into my being
plainly observing, telling me that the lines on my head are
getting stronger and stronger
my being tells me that I’m getting older
my consciousness tells me that I’m getting wiser
if I was getting older, why would I ever have the same old dreams
I had during my childhood, I ask
if I was getting wiser, why would I keep doing the same mistakes, I ask
pieces of me are flying around in
a state of agitation;
the mirror knows and it
will remain… silent.