I see myself in interrogation through a one-way mirror. Eyes blinded,
squinting at my figure bathed under the fluorescent lamp
while I was shrouded in shadow on the other side. It was desolate, watching her
as the inspector sways her down. In the dimness, I see myself in this mirror—
like a window. But she only saw herself reflected back in the light.
I see myself in a hall of mirrors, my existence replicated a million times over.
I ponder which one of us is the real one. Hands reach out to me, but ultimately
there was nothing but the pinpricks of goose bumps of my skin.
I’ve blinded myself to the thought of ever having to reflect on my actions, the implications
to those I hold at arm’s length.
I don’t know which side I’m looking from anymore.
I see myself in a funhouse mirror—a disconcerting attraction.
I trace the curves in my reflection overlap my own, my anatomy stretched
in more ways than one. The carnival resounds beneath my feet. Screams of joy
contrasts my horror. I back further into the maze and watch myself distort once more.
Thank you for reading,
(Side image taken from Pinterest)