Obsidian like pools stared back at me
His face a mask of bewildered pain
As through his mental warzone
He’d journeyed so hard again.
And all that I could do for him
Was hold him very tight
To stop him self-inflicting
In his all too frequent fight.
And all the drugs that he’s prescribed
That he swallows every day
They cannot cure him of his ills
They keep it – just at bay.
I know what passes through that mind
And sadly, so does he
For when he looks in mirror-glass
All that he sees — is me!
©Joe Wilson – The mental warzone…2016