who's there?

where have I gone?  where can I be?

When I look in the mirror it just isnt me

I hope I return before its too late

I just cannot live with someone I hate…

“fuck you!” he said to the man who says “fuck you!” to him every morning…

As has become the norm, he stares at him with disgust and a twisted sort of wonder…

he seems to do a great deal of wondering about this man…

why does he torment him so?

Why must he stand there behind the glass and scrutinize his every thought and action ad absurdum?
Why can he not allow him the somnambulistic bliss that others enjoy with such ease?

judge not lest ye be judged he said to him…

but did he truly understand by whom?

his egomaniacal addiction backfires and belches upon him the narcissistic flames of his own private hell…[as if there could be a public hell]…

The mutually hateful gaze continues as the battle of “who do you think you are?”/ “I know who you are!” escalates…

Gone are the days of the physical crescendo…

When the air would momentarily fill with a shower of broken glass, rusty razors and beautiful pastel dots that marked the end of his resistance to cosmetic psychopharmacology…

the war now languishes in a sorrowful stalemate of passive loathing…

which ultimately ends in a synchronized surrender…

and a return to the social distraction.