I frown, getting out of bed is such a chore.
I wish I could sleep for hours more.
You ever wished life had a fast forward button?
Well I do.
Then I wouldn't have to spend years with him.
The guy in the mirror.
He has my face,
He has my style,
But I hate those things,
The man in the mirror is aged and angry,
But I'm just a boy,
I lost years.
Abuse aged me far beyond,
And now he glares back at me,
While I wish that wasn't me.
But it is.
I turn back.
I look at him.
I look at me.
I see the youth that I used to not see,
The glint in my eyes,
The mischievous smirk,
But I also see the undereye bags from nights at work,
I wish I looked better.
But the sands of time have come and gone,
And I have accept what I've become.
I look years above my age,
But perhaps that isn't bad.
I suppose that I could be a handsome lad.
But I will toil not with that which isn't broken.
Because as much as I can hate my face,
I have to admit that truer words, are oft thought, not spoken.