Pressed up against the glass,
I can see you on the other side.
Your smiling face ignorant
of the things you take for granted.
There are others there beside you
faces I try not to recognize.
They paw at you hungrily.
Why scorn their touch
when inside you crave it above all else?
What are you and how are you any different from them?
On my side of the glass I am alone.
Or am I?
Is it just that I’m too afraid
that if I look over my shoulder,
I’ll catch a glimpse
of the ghosts that you gave me?
Amidst the questions for which I have no answers,
I do know one thing.
I am just a midpoint
of a transition to a better thing.
You are but a reflection of the old;
your marred features reversed
by the murky veil of this tinted mirror.