Reflection

The doors of the metro look back at you, 

staring at the silken skin that wears you, 

while you begin to break through

your own reflection, years spent yearning 

for affection, years caved in cocoons 

of people, waiting for your own gossamer wings.

You are a graveyard of all the people time made you

and never apologised for. All the lives overdue

bookmarked in time, while you dangle within this

pantomime. Aching to remove faces you have already sunk in,

hanging onto like puppets with all the people you have run with

unfolding and folding the boxes you are bound in.

The doors of the metro look back at you, 

are you looking back at your chosen hue?