I stare at the face,

Looking back at me.

Unrecognizable.

Surface cratered with self-pity and self-loathing.

Mars the layer that once was,

Pristine.

Explored, out of curiosity.

Threaded, out of necessity.

It still exists to shape.

To inspire.

To draw breath.

I stare at the face, at the hollow craters of the,

Soul.

Looking back.

Looking past.

The shadows eclipse the craters.