i see my reflection in the mirror and hate it

not content with horrid image bouncing back

then i see myself in the window as I walk down the empty hospital corridor and don’t recognize it as the same

a separation of id and ego perhaps

the walking image is thin and has a nice smile as he chats along with the poor biomed

the mirror image is repugnant

his stupid face makes me sick

the walking image seems nice and cordial

maybe it is the passing glance that doesn’t allow me to pinpoint all the flaws, the malice doesn’t get a chance to stretch

i just know i hate him

that smug bastard in the morning

hopped up on coffee and shirt tucked in

bald head and vacant eyes

i would lash out and destroy him

the one in the windows, he i can stand, because i don’t know him as well

he hasn’t been painted by insecurities, not dressed in the things i cannot change

pure and fresh

is he who others see

am i overly harsh

i don’t know

not really

a dual relationship between myself and the disparate images

does everyone feel this way about themselves

nitpick themselves to death

surprised when they aren’t the monster they normally see

maybe

i wouldn’t know