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The Mirror Lied
I stared into the mirror's glass,
But saw no face, just smoke and ash.
A grin that wasn't mine took hold,
Its teeth were crooked, dead, and cold.
It whispered truths I dared not know,
Of buried screams and blood below.
It showed me hands I'd never raised,
Yet bore the stains of those I razed.
Now every night I meet its gaze,
Trapped in its ever-twisting maze.
The mirror lied—or maybe not—
I’ve just become the thing I fought.
Copyright ©
Emmanuel Balele
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