The Mirror Defect

Look in the mirror, what do we see?
defects, imperfections,
traces of vain illusions or wrong directions
Skin burned by often violent actions against our will,
But why I wonder, a mirror, shouldn't be a bridge?
Why does not go to the second layer,
beyond the superficial pleasure, beyond our mask enforced?

Ah, if only a mirror could analyze more than a suit of flesh and skin, what would it says?
should be deeper than superficial wickedness, showing a bit of soul or brain?
Would it show us fools past mistakes,
or imperfections that they left in our mental state?
The defects are irrelevant, no one can judge our meats,
when in fact of those
we rarely care of,
all we want to show a cure for our breathlessness,
to bring peace and put an end to our superficial deceptions, to escape from madness.

We all deceive ourselves, thinking that by putting a mask we can run away from our present sorrow,
if only it were so easy to escape from, humanity would use it as an arrow,
Lost in insecurities that shake our brains
left under clouds of mystery without our will, but lame,
launched miles away from our soul-house,
Does the mirror show it or anything of that selfless behind this meat as a mouse?
Nothing, it doesn't,
no fault, because the beef is not possible to compare with the torment
that uses to torn the soul slow in his movement.

Stop in front of my mirror as appropriate,
I try to find my meanings, in this instrument in defect,
something beyond human knowledge,
analyzed piece by piece,
a searing look at a beautiful mask of a smiling breeze,
pretending in a night made of thoughts and pain
not shown on the face,
asking question as in a fairytale to the mirror
but, alas, remains silent behind his normal facade limbo,
Well then I wonder, if not revealing our inner pain,
is a mirror only a defect or the biggest deception of the brain?