Poetry

The mirror

The mirror lies.

This fact is as cold and hard

as the pane of glass separating

me from my own reflection.

I watch myself breathe;

watch myself grow older,

each second making the lines

beneath my eyes stretch further down,

and the shadows deepen,

full up with dust and cobwebs.

I am a shadow,

a pale imitation of the girl I knew.

I am this reflection;

the physical body has retreated

somehow,

and the energy dispelled.

This mirror shows my face,

but I do not know it anymore.

I only know the cold hard glass

which acts as mediator,

the thin line between reality and

appearance;

utterly impersonal, utterly objective.

Utterly lifeless:

it only shows one side of things,

it only shows one version of reality.

I think I’m lost,

lost somewhere far away

on the other side of the line-

on the other side

of the mirror.

 

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