i've never liked my reflection.
when i was ten
a classmate confided to me the legend of
Bloody Mary
how her visage would melt from the glass
like hot metal being sculpted
and forged.
i didn't sleep for days afterward
i draped pillowcases over each mirror in my room;
phantoms, ghostlike figures
that did nothing to quell my panic.
nowadays, i think i'd welcome Queen Mary's presence
in my looking-glass
as long as i don't see my own face staring back at me.
i spell death for myself
far more than ancient folklore ever has.
DU LIEST GERADE
the archives - a poetry portfolio
PoesieA light buzzing distracts you from whatever you're doing. There is an old, weathered monitor on a table next to you. You could have sworn that it had just *appeared* out of thin air. Out of curiosity, you stare at it for a moment. The screen flicke...
