sitting alone
in the stark
nudity of dawn
sunlight illuminates
every blemish
each trailing scar
the slick streaks down
weathered cheeks
as the coffee
sits untouched
steaming morosely
into the stagnacy
of shattered repose
mockingbirds roost
sarcastic dimwits
singing the songs
they never felt
never understood
but seeking
the same response
in pallid echoes
i can not tell
if they are real
or just a metaphor
for my own failings
as warm light shines
over a desolate soul
wanting to scream out
but uncertain if
the words are his
or a poor facsimile
of actual beauty