Soiled Glass

The chugging of the engine wakes me;

I am tainted

with its fumes.

A blackened face

in a blackened mirror,

a copy made of carbon

filled with the discards of personality.

 

My doppelganger’s stupidity

faces me everyday,

always solid with the expression of the trapped.

 

Ironic, don’t you think?

 

If only I could roll it up

into little balls of doughy flesh

and pop them into my mouth one by one,

chewing and chewing until the juices

flow out

and I can use them to wipe away

the layers of coal-dusted

skin.

 

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