In the Mirror,
Two faces stare at me.

The first is familiar.
The face of my former self.

The secound is new, unknown,
Yet seems somehow near.

I search for similarities,
I look for differences.

The old me is easy to be,
Familiar, the way I always am.

The new me seems better somehow,
But almost sinister,

Then it hits me.
I turn around and stab the man with my toothbrush.

I was decieved,
nothing had changed, I had just adapted.

What the hell am I saying?
I've been reading too much deep poetry crap.

I take the toothbrush,
And stab myself.