2
The mirror;
or the truth-teller, as I'd say,
conceived a vile, unearthly reflection.
A clear display of imperfections.
I'd vacate the area with wounds,
wounds on my thighs,
wounds everywhere.
The penetration I painted on my own canvas,
multiplied the abomination towards it.
I smudged lies on my face,
mocking a smile.
A smile bright enough to blind those around me.
I'm fine.
Those words convinced me like the lies you told me.
I was convinced I was ugly
and deserved to suffer
by the mirror;
the truth-teller.
