Like polished glass,
I see through you
And see myself.
But this is no compensation.
What you stand for,
I've hated it
For all my life.
Your anger and indignant rage?
The milk left out?
You're just lazy
And sour smelling.
Dead to me like your torn collar,
Though I love you,
Though I hate you,
My reflection
In an older mirror than mine.
For the thrown plates
And the crying
And your own woe
Over your father's early death,
I walk away.
I walk away
Because it's hard
To preserve your memory,
A torturer,
Just as fondly
As it now is.
It is too late to start trying.
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