The Uninvited Guest

MIRROR MURMURS

What you could have been
buried in left-behind mirrors
murmuring through dust,
oh, what you could have been.

Your words are lonely, muttered at the wall
bounced back, unclasped by others, unheard
above that din outside, the clanging din
strangers emptying your almost empty bin.

Your heart turns darker, burnt by time
like sulking sausages in the fridge,
neglected, as your lack of empathy
makes pigs squeal a long way down the chain.

Your hairs nest in the plughole, cling
as time drowns them in scum,
bends down their bright, flexing reach
dulls their serpent strikes, their lure.

Your wrinkles are the uninvited guest, like leaves,
falling on each other, rustling dry blown brown,
lines that lie, scratch your secret on your skin
how you came to betray your Spring.