Shall I peer into my looking glass, my darling?
I stare at the girl through my looking glass.
In her smile, self-deprecation sighs.
Voices in her head whisper chaos,
as she screams internally for attention-
Begging any deity above to save her.
Oh dear, doesn't she know?
The looking glass might just crack,
from a world where fight becomes flight.
"Oversized clothing is comfortable"-
but is modesty the only veil it covers?
An intention battles with desperation to hide
Desolated reality claims her of their own:
an incessant prompt of a fallen angel, breaking herself for the broken is inexorable,
It's a broken bargain she doesn't choose,
but to be loved, is to be chosen.
She articulates herself yet she succumbs,.
Maladaptive daydreaming paradoxes her sense.
She writhes in anguish-
a masterful tragedy of her own scripting.
It's funny how one contradicts their beliefs,
though expectations were meant to be shattered either way.
She was a book:
lovely words scripted in her eyes,
meant to be read, but left unsaid.
They were dyslexic,
wearing blind irises as if it were a trophy.
Perhaps tragedies are inevitable intricacies?-
meant to be created and destroy you in process.
The looking glass cracks.
I reach my hand out to save her.
But oh, how she masks herself in the shadows!
Familiarity of a saying: "addiction kills",
begs me to decipher if we were born to die.
The girl in the looking glass,
she has a certified doctorate in application,
relapsing to fleeting dreams and nightmares...
Shall I peer into my looking glass, my darling?
Copyright © Rowha Syed | Year Posted 2025
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