Face in My Wall

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Dear face in my wall,

I see you hiding in that stucco swirl,
sulking in the cobwebbed dinge
that’s settled in your creases.
I bet you think I don’t notice.

Day after day I sit opposite you —
watch as you quietly contemplate
your dull, tragic life.

I watch the shadows crawl
across your eyes —
the disappointment
of going nowhere.

I know how deep your cracks run,
how you pretend you don’t feel
that pit of live wires, writhing
like snakes in your gut, waiting
to bring you down with the tiniest spark.

Always, I see you looking back.
Why do you stare at me
with your mask of pale plaster
and textured skin mimicking my flaws?

It is cruel of you to pretend to be me.