changeling

delusional, he slid thick fingers across his face
            shaping away the dark lines of hate
        allowing his sculpting hands
                            freedom
                    with lines
                        and curves
                            trying with a sort of
                            panic and
                    desperate insistency
                to mold away painful
                    lost investment of soul
            no, there
                he thought
                    the watered glass
                        reflecting back
                she'll never recognize me
                            now.

Christopher M. Massey's Questions:

1)  Does the word shaping work, or does it detract from the experience?
2)  Does the poem seem to possess universal qualities?