A room surrounded by mirrors.
I stood at the center
And glanced at the parts of myself that those mirrors showed.
I saw parts of myself—
The ugly part,
The beautiful part.
I see—oh, wait.
I took a step back,
And I saw my whole apparition
Showing themselves in those reflections from a distance.
I see me, all of me.
My ugliness and my beauty made me who I am,
Who I am meant to be,
Who I am destined to be.
Although I do not believe in destiny,
I wishfully and childishly hoped
For the better parts of me to elevate.
And yet,
I find myself unable to look at myself from such a distanced perception.
So, I once again got closer.
I, yet again, found myself looking at one mirror at a time.
My eyes could not look at every mirror at once.
They had to be set on the singular.
The perceived image of me began to be set
On what I saw of myself—
The hideous,
The beauty,
The hysterical,
The sane,
The emotional,
The logic.
So many things of me that exist in me.
Everything turned grey.
Acceptance is futile—yet I could not,
I could not help but accept just a part
As I stood in that room
For such a long and tedious time.
My eyes moved between the mirrors,
Searching to see which angle
Reflected the best part of myself.
I did not know what I searched for.
I did not know what I wanted.
I just searched—
For something, for someone.
But… for what?
I found those angles—if not, many of them.
But I did not think I looked beautiful.
Then everything went red.
I cried, I raged, I screamed, I grabbed, I threw, I socked.
Everything began to be destroyed and broken around me.
Shards all around me—
My shame, my confusion, my anger, my—I do not even recall anymore.
I broke everything.
Stabbing my hands with the shards.
I looked down.
My hands became bloodied.
Oh no, blood was on my hands.
What have I done?
What should I do?
The blood dripped along my hands,
My legs,
My knees,
And on the ground.
They trickled down like a crimson red stream
And created a tiny red puddle.
The puddle grew larger
As my defeat and nausea spread.
Everything went white—
Empty and unwavering.
The blood on the floor, slow yet steady,
Began to fill up the whole room.
And I stood there and saw what I had created—
A witness to the crime that I had committed to myself.
What is happening to me?
The blood reached the shattered glasses of the mirrors,
Painting them with bloody red.
What a crime scene.
I watched my own deeds
Destroying the whole of me.
I stood defeated,
Yet I kept calm.
Everything turned blue.
My bones began to ache.
My body tired itself down.
My blood pumped itself out
To escape from me.
And slowly, yet steadily,
I began to die.
I began to allow myself to let go—
For life to be drained out of me.
With nothing but shattered parts of myself,
I slowly began to wither.
And before I knew it,
Everything became blurred.
Everything became blackened.
Everything became nothing.
I was—
And then, gone.
Forgotten.
And tragically, lost.
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