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glass and mirrors

Let me be candid with you.
There is a broken mirror lodged between my teeth,
swallowed shards of reflective glass serrating ribs and stifling joints.
And when the skin comes off at night, when I am finally honest,
when it is dark and the light no longer throws up mirages in my sight like tantalising, wistful daydreams,
I see two reflections, a pair of silent twins, facing back to back, their mouths open and close and I can barely make out the words,
one them is lying, I know, or both of them are, or neither of them are,
and I can’t make out the truth. Two paths, both less traveled, are carving their ways through my system,
decorating blood vessels with their signature ambiguity and sharp, unsettling uncertainty.
In my stomach, shattered glass crack and splinter, decorates this foreign body,
making spiderweb patterns under this thin skin.
And let me be honest, I sit and wait, as patient but no more than I can bear to be,
for these broken mirrors to reflect back a crystal clear truth.