my new mirror

as my skin begins to boil
in pock-marked shape
from fungal rash - spread
by the heat...

I'm losing my hiding place,
my last resort...
my eyes have fallen, from
their once honest poetry,
to a burrow beneath
the gates of disgust

maybe,
now it's time to shelf the burdens
behind an open mouth,
with a speaking tongue...
we are only
our hearts and minds anyways

my encounters should be
my new mirror
for an honest reflection
of who i am