The reflection stares at you as you brush your teeth.

And, yep- looks about the same as last time you passed by a window
(though maybe your acne has swollen
and your hair is definitely worse).

Now lean down to spit and watch as it comes up,
As it raises the cup to it's lips,
And you only partly realize you're doing the same.

(and distantly
I think about who I am)

And you banish the thought,
for to think about Myself
is to to consider the space between stars,
or the mass of dark scribbles in the corner of your papers

(which may have been covering
some unsatisfactory mark,
or may have been nothing at all.)