The Looking Glass

A little more angsty than I typically write but I'm not having a good day.

I lean against the looking glass,
Seeing a girl I don't know.
With dark shaded eyes,
And bleeding arms.

I'm frightened.

She cries and sobs
Against her mirror,
looking in at me.
I wonder briefly what she wants.

Then I know it's me.

She doesn't want to hurt anymore,
She doesn't want to cry.
She wants to appear the way I do.
Calm, collected, and whole.

But I'm not.

I don't think there has ever been
A point in my adult life
Where everything has fallen together
And everything's gone right.

I shake my head slowly, keeping my eyes to hers.

She presses a bloodied palm,
Against her looking glass.
She nods as fresh tears start to flow.
I cringe as a sob wracks her body.

She doesn't understand.

She cannot see,
This is what must be.
For me to survive.
And her to bleed.

She has to stay.

Stay behind the wall of glass.
Inside her dark little world.
Coming out in my poetry.
My only outlet left.

Careful or my glass will break.

And she will be free.

Reviews

[C.L. Wilson]

Wow! very very dark. Gruesome yet it has a horrorific beauty to it. Vivid images. This must have a hellish day but... well.... sometimes those days make some great poetry.