Man on the mirror

The man on the mirror stares,
eyes dead,
gnarled feet disappearing below.
Pain kisses the blood flowing,
his cracked lips cinematic under his watch.

The man on the mirror stares,
his crown shining and grey.
Caving under the weight of empty dreams,
broken futures.

The man on the mirror stares,
his body a masterpiece of struggle,
his hands a testament of hustle
A body built for toil and pain,
bearing nothing,
leaving no legacy.

The man on the mirror stares,
and stares,
and stares.
Until finally the mirror fogs,
under the vision of his tears.
Until finally his hands bleed,
under the weight of his fist to the mirror.
Until finally he screams,
under the piercing of shards to his skin.