The imperfections on a mirror bent
his tired face into distorted curves.
He was aware his face was fine, but couldn't
accept or tolerate a rippled mark
in glass created to run pure and smooth.
He pressed his hands along the frigid frame,
advancing them toward deviating shapes
that gave him headaches in the morning light,
while leaving greasy trails as he progressed.
He then applied some pressure to the glass
and pushed until the warping mirror cracked
and filled the sink below with shattered shards
that broke the sunlight beaming from above
into scattered, luminescent fragments.