the ugly writers

Through the Mirror Darkly

No longer can I meet myself with honest recognition and no longer do I greet myself with a softness or affection.

Through the Mirror Darkly

 

The mirror is broken,
this mirror of my life,
this mirror that shows me
what about my world’s wrong
and what about it’s right.
It started with a fissure
which under pressures spread,
creaking out a lowing toll
that rang inside my head.
No longer do I see my reflection
in that tattered, shattered mirror.
No longer can I give confession
to its eyes grown so unclear.
No longer can I meet myself
with honest recognition
and no longer do I greet myself
with a softness or affection.
That reflection in the mirror
has grown so warped and looming,
its cracks drawn so deep and forked
that my soul it is consuming.
This mirror of my life
has birthed a dread-filled blight,
a wicked demon sprite
that haunts my waking sight.
A spirit awash in silver
with garish, gnarly features,
whose unhale gaze
upon my soul bewilders.
That maniac inside the mirror,
with his myriad pointed teeth,
is biting, gnashing, gnawing,
and clawing for release.

mirror

 

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Blake Edwards

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