Work Text:
I’m in a house of mirrors, at some point I got tired of looking at myself. I walk forward trying to get past the images that twist, turn, and morph in front of myself. At some point the mirrors have become damaged. Fragments have slowly fallen to the ground. I have stopped seeing the pretty, only the ugly remains. Both the skin deep and the inner darkness. I have tried to rebuild the mirrors, but as I reach for the pieces all I see are the cracks in my façade. I try to run from the images but they surround me, fragmented looking into the deepest parts of me. Blood runs between the cracks as wounds are opened, rivers of blood run. I’m bleeding dry, once swift and rushing, now turn to sluggish, trickling streams. I am tired, as I lay surrounded by the images of my weakening life force. That slowly dries around me, wishing and hoping that someone with find me. They will see the beauty in the broken fragments maybe I will be pretty enough to repair or these faults and fragments I see will be beautiful as is.