I look up from the street
A window I behold
It throws back a reflection
of me
of clothes so torn and tattered
a beard unkempt
a cut unhealed
I see
My eyes hang low
my nose is brown with the trash I sleep
my lips carry a grin of indifference
no glee
A fist I raise
and slam against the glass
cracked to match myself
I flee
never to look again
at the fright that is me
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