Urine

I looked in the mirror.
I closed my eyes and counted:
Two.
Three.
Easy does it.
I opened my eyes.
Fancy that.
I was still looking in the mirror.
I aged twenty years and had no nose.
My eyes were bleeding.
My mouth was shut tight.
And possibly not a mouth.
I called my wife.
She slunk in.
Decapitated.
A torso.
A trunk.
A symbol of my wretched livelihood.
Hot tears urinated down my face.
Should have been urine.
Should have been urine.