House Of Mirrors

A cutting gaze, the self-portrait's stare
Practices mimicry to fool the eyes;
The parts where light plays with air
A sputtering maze of lens and lies.
       The foolish guise
       Of glass, a lair.

Some are sneaky and stricken with lines
Of deformities, other strangers
Surely surprised; they sway like serpentines
On the run from hidden dangers.
       The doppelgangers
       Of see-through signs.

All these eyes, the self portrait's trap,
To see oneself in such ways, a mess
Of oddities within the mind that snap
When revealed; a game of chess
       Cruelly skewed, less
       Shards through the gap.

Something in the faces, the idealized
Distorted; and someone golden, gleaming,
Their smile leaving something to be surmised.
What is this place? This thing?
       I am the changeling,
       I realized.