Mirrorbreed

Mirror in the washroom, mirror in the hall, who is the saddest, most tragic of all? Me, me, me— our chant, our plea, our scroll. We cry for heartbreak, curse what we recall, mourn mood swings and childhood’s sprawl. We share our feelings, raw and blatant, talk as if we own sorrow’s patent. An indulgent binge of trauma dumping hailed as “growth,” with echoes thumping. “Let down your hair,” the mirror said "So, I may climb into your head." We let the mirror live inside, Fed it fears, we were meant to hide. We center our every breath on “I,” crown our pain and let it sanctify. We kneel to our image like an altar then robe our grief in saints for slaughter. “The slipper fits,” the mirror lied “So, dance until you feel alive.” We twirl in dreams we can't escape beneath a veil we cannot scrape. The mirror smirks with every spin— “Keep dancing. You’ve already let me in.” "Just close your eyes,” the mirror sighed, “The world will wait—just stay inside.” And so, we did, in cushioned sleep, clinging to the dreams we were fed, And the world burned beyond our bed. The mirror waits with breathless grace. It doesn’t show. It holds our face.