I look into the mirror,
Watching the person staring back
And it could not be clearer
That the figure cloaked in black
Is not who I am.
The figure has my appearance,
Looking at me with disgust
And sorrow because it is inherent
That the eyes do not trust
The figure staring back.
I keep looking and reach to the broken
Glass towards the sharp edges
Tinged deep with black omens,
Blood and deep evils of legend,
Looking at the figure staring back.
My hand feels the warm glass full of evil,
The figure looks right in my eyes,
Grabs my arm and pulls me from Eden
Into the hell that exists inside the glass.
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