Life is not how I live it.
Either the water comes splashing
even when the half-empty glass on
the table is just sitting still or,
I reach for something to drink,
but the water is not refracting.
On the looking glass, I see myself
pretty ugly, without to hold water with
only my reflection drowning.
Yet I grip tightly onto the hold
if only to quench the need for liquid
by the arid jaws of life, which
for a time now have not seen a smile.
I am retracting, but still my image
is refracting, on the looking glass
which dares not to be drank from
only, it is looking back.