You’re trapped in this confinement room
With the pictures on the wall
Of dolphins and cupcakes and kitty cats
Coloured by children negligently and messily
Like the lines are irrelevant,
Yet still hung like bannisters
Above the mirror.
And casing you in are the brown boxes,
Filled to the top and taped closed,
But your desire to know what lay inside
And your new companions are
Crushed water bottles and cigarettes,
Corpses piled one upon the other,
Like victims of a plague,
Or soldiers who never won the war,
Yet they share the room with you,
And oddly they comfort you a bit more.
You can’t help but find the mirror,
Even though you didn’t want to.
You’re punished to see your own eyes
And wonder why you look so grim,
How this happened,
Why this has happened.
Why is your face so stern and melancholy,
Why does it tell a thousand sad stories
That I have never heard before?
Who has bought it over?
And wonder why must you have sold your soul
For a price of more sadness and anguish,
Why must you have sold your soul
When you could have sold this mirror,
That mocks you and points your own angry finger,
Reminds you of your mistakes made in only one day,
Reminds you of the lives you’ve taken
From people still breathing.
Soon enough the mirror is on the ground,
Your judgemental face in a hundred pieces
You may smash and step on
This feeling of confinement isn’t so bad.