He runs his hands through his hair
His fists full of feathered locks
That float away as his head drops
To avoid the the room of cold stares
Cause in this room of broken mirrors
The view is always splintered
He fights the filtered angles
As secure as the glass on the floor
Over tired, overlooked, over analysed
He sighs, hearing his life as old news
Blind sided by lies, he stares at his shoes
Eyes glazed, face sullen and paralysed
He's in pieces on the walls
Scattered echoes
Of shattered illusions
There's no exit sign
Only empty sighs
And faint signs of life