Hazy and clouded, the thick air
Barely gives way to let me see.
Looking into the fogged up mirror,
I can scarcely make out the details
Of the face looking back.
If that's supposed to be me,
Then what the hell am I?
As I make the daily vanity ritual to inspect myself
Through this shimmering plinth
I'm left to wonder -
Behind the glass, what does this other guy do
When I'm not looking?