There's a monster in my mirror, too hideous for words; sliced with scars upon its cracked and withered skin. It's dying, can't you see? how could it look any worse? Yet somehow to everyone else it manages to stay hidden.
It's inhuman and revolting, a disgrace, defiled beauty, if beauty ever once was in its face. If I remember back far enough, it didn't always use to be there. Sometimes it would let a little illusion stand in its place, that illusion seems to still play its cruel trick on everyone around me. I alone am burdened with the true horror of th-the thing staring back from that terrifying pane of glass.
Everyone, everyone says I'm crazy, I'm sick, I'm broken, it's all in my head. Yes, it's in my head, but that doesn't mean it's not real. My vision is merely obscured, unlike their blissful ignorance. Ignorance, what I wouldn't give to live in THAT beautiful word of oblivious believing in their "comforting" lies again. But I can't go back, I can't un-see what I see or unlearn what i have been privileged to learn. I will never be the same again.
There's a monster in my head. It is friends with the one in the mirror, they travel, disfigured hand in hand.
These monsters, they are controlling. Wearing away at me til there is nothing left.
Yes, there's a monster. It's me.
