This is not Dorian Gray’s mirror.
I am certainly not younger than I seem.
You are certainly not older than I seem.
But your stare is penetrating and cold.
Will I look that way when I get old?
This is not the mirror, mirror on the wall.
I am not the fairest in the land.
And don’t care who is at all.
Have you come to warn me of an impending fall?
Yet you seem familiar.
Are you an amalgamation of mes?
Who I was, who I am, who I will be?
You seem familiar but you are not me.