I read you like an open book

one dog-eared and weatherworn

but still pro propped open

to a page screaming of a fantasy.

I read your emotions like

they are an unraveling sign

above your lying,

criminalistic, opinionated head.

I read your face like the Internet page

that screams out my obscenities,

my lies, my memories and deaths.

I read your unshed tears

as a weakness,

one passed on to me,

a gift I am not appreciating.

I read your watery blue eyes

as well as I read my own,

but how well I read my own

will never be known…

because I have also inherited

you inability to look in a mirror.