Who truly sees the monster in the mirror?
Who can gaze past their own favorable review?
Many look upon it and have not the eyes to see
Many stand before it and do not feel its hungry gape
It comes on its own terms and serves no master
Filled with a wanton lust that can not and will not be sated
Madness can attract it and death often follows it
For this beast is quite cunning
Made more so by the fall of man
In the splinter of an instant it slips beyond our periphery
To skulk about the dark reaches
Pacing beyond the edges of the background
Biding its time
That another passerby might tarry too long before the glass.