There are faces in the mirror
just behind the bathroom door,
the faces are all yours,
but these, you have not seen before.
The first ghost stares at you –
the paler in the mix –
the sum of a decision you made
back in two thousand and six.
The second ghost who lulls sombre
gazes right at your eye,
on its forehead are bloodied markings:
“You didn’t say goodbye.”
The third grinds ‘abroad
and shoots you an air kiss,
about it are two figures:
a passion you chose to miss.
Yet another has a demeanour nonchalant,
who looks aside with a smirk
with a golden ring and chain,
earned in a different line of work.
There are faces in the mirror
just behind the bathroom door
each of them is who you could’ve been
if by a different song you swore.