Unknown Titles 2

I see,
you have become old,
not grown old;
Just become.
Your face is what
but a lump
of crinkles, cracks, crevices.
Something leaks out of it.
Something slimy, clammy, yellowish, demonic.

My eyeballs are stretched
to the limit.
Your torso is visible in the yellow pool.
Does your lower half still possess legs?
Or are you a centaur?
Is this a metamorphosis,
liken to Gregor Samsa?

The liquid reaches my toes
It climbs up my legs.
It has already tinged
me with yellow.
It gains my bodily altitude fiercely
as if my heart houses a magnet
for the liquid.

Your eyes flutter
for an instant.
Something you want to say
but the quick flutter subdued by forces unknown.

Now the cracks have opened wide.
Streams of yellow shored by you.
There is a mirror behind you,
visible through the widening streams and creeks.
I see myself in it,
but not me, not me.
Not yellow,
but red, blood red.
Not cracks,
but holes, widening diameters.