I take my glasses off so I don’t have to see the pathetic world around me,
No use in them,
Even when I'm wearing them,
I still couldn’t tell you about the man in the mirror that I see,
He blinks and his eyes go from empty and void,
To angry and inconsolable.
Is he mad like me?
Angry like I am?
Does the same sorrow weigh heavy on his heart too?
Without my glasses on, I lean in to see him.
Bags under his eyes,
Anger in them, too.
He wants the world to see him,
But no one does,
I’m blind to the world by physical imparity,
The world is blind to him by apathy.
There is no money in him,
Nor fame or fortune.
They choose to be blind to him,
Because he holds no material advantage.
He could kill himself in the silence of the night,
And the world would wake up in the morning to march toward hedonistic apathy.
I pull away from the mirror.
The man inside it knows what I know,
And the idea, the decision,
Weighs on his mind.
I start to cry and turn from him.
I want to console him but I have no words,
What do you say to the suicidal man in the mirror?