Mirror Image

Resembles me, and not me, each facet and contour memorial of that which used to be. Yet unreal, alien somehow; serene and yet rattled, disturbed; a reversal of the before and after, wrinkle free, no lines of laughter nor crow's feet patterns tap dancing the eyes. Me, but drained of character, oddly lifeless, blank and expressionless upon the silver sheen of anti static glass. Back to the eyes, though, they give up the ghost; speak volumes of sadness, life and love and ages; of what they have seen, where they have been... and an inkling of Death's implacable seal. And still I am tired, behind youth's craven facade; and afraid in the place where my mirror image inverted and sub-conscious weeps and despairs, is locked away, a carbon copy inner self picture of Dorian Gray...