Mirror
My reflection
Ever perfectly imperfect
Begins to show something
Something behind me, a face
A face smiling subtly, sweetly, perfectly
Freezing, frozen, unable even to move
hand on my shoulder, stop,
Then it disappears, stop
Whispers, whispering, stop
Total silence.
Stop.
YOU ARE READING
Written in Class
PoetryA collection of poems all written for a class. Most of them are related to my mental health, and some of them are pure fantasy. UPDATED WEEKLY
