The mistakes, I repeat them.
Circles, I go round in them.
Stupid situations, I find myself in them.
Stranger’s beds, I wake up in them.
Feelings, I don’t have them.
“I love you”, is what I tell them.
Wanting out, need to get away from them.
A nice guy, that’s what I seem to them.
The façades…they don’t notice them.


Who are you, to so boldly look back out of the mirror at me? I don’t even recognise you anymore. I tell myself ‘that’s you Jon, that is you’ but it’s not. It looks like me but it isn’t. There’s something in those eyes that I have never seen before, and let me tell you this now, I’ve seen my eyes a lot. I mean, they’re my own fucking eyes. But it’s all changed now hasn’t it? Yes. Yes it has. Physically the eyes are not mine either. Dark bags hang below them, almost as if they became any larger they would become pendulous. The rest of the face fared no different. There was a gauntness to the cheeks that was barely hidden behind a thinning, grey, uneven beard. But that’s not the most alarming thing to have changed. 