Piece by piece, I try to fix the mirror I shattered.
Out of guilt, mostly.
The glass cuts me. The thick blood staining...
No, not staining. Painting.
Painting the pieces
In myriad hues of red.
The red cracks stay as the mirror reforms.
And my reflection, torn in threaded red pieces- broken, flawed,
Yet somehow still together- smiles at me.
The mirror is complete again. Yet somehow lacking its originality.
The mirror is fixed, my reflection is still shattered.
Shattered in a different way than it was when I broke the mirror.
I guess some things can never be fixed.
And it's just the human nature to keep on trying.
To keep on believing the impossible.
For some reason, I feel great pleasure
In breaking the mirror again.
I feel better, now that I cannot see my flaws.
~
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