And as I blink, the image the mirror projects is temporarily replaced by darkness.
And as I wake, the image morphs into another image.
Yet the image is the same, as my questions remain.
Am I here?
Or am I . . .
Morphing into reality—derealize.
It is all a dream and I am walking—
Fish swim by me,
And light's rays are guidance from the surface.
They do not tell me where to go
But maybe if I go to the deep, blue—no.
I look at the water and there is no reef of corals
But a mirror.
Derealize—a reality.
And the salty water I bring with me.
They flow out of my eyes, a taste—
Salt stabs my tongue and happily skin it,
And I'd like to laugh
because it was ticklish—
Yet my face crumples like paper
Wrinkles form and tears move by gravity, as my eyebrows do as they dip
And I am mad
That my anger isn't beautiful.
And my chest heaves heavily—
And my heart drums against cotton, violently
But my lungs do not fill.
I am not underwater—
derealize.
Am I here?
Or am I not . . .
I anticipate the moment it would stop
And I pick on my skin
Like somehow I could change the image my mirror reflects.
And as I pick, blood is freed.
A little spot of red crawls—a ladybug!
And as I push the little scab, it bleeds.
Splat! Now ink spilling on leaf—
The mirror cracks and mimicking wounds, it bleeds.
The sea rubs salt.
And as I blink, the image is doused in the mirror's bleeding cracks.
And as I kick the water,
redder by the hour,
I smile.
Because at last,
it was painful.
