• carliepowell 6w

    When Funhouse Mirrors aren't Fun Anymore

    I am scared of looking in the mirror without being


    afraid of what I’ll see,  more afraid of what I won’t. 

    Hollow Opaque glass stares back, accusingly empty.

    The mirrors of my eyes reflect myself back on to me

    but allow only a glimpse. Wait, who is she? Slowly a

    streak  slides down the mirror distorting the glossy
    surface. Someone somewhere inside is screaming
    “Help me,” as I turn off the lights and leave,


    “I cant.”