Looking into the mirror, I am swallowed,
Taken up in the image before me.
Slowly but surely I become conscious
That the image is moving;
Binding me to the floor
With the leaden concrete of terror.
Reaching from beyond the looking glass,
I grasp myself by the throat
And with a hand stronger than my own,
Drag myself forward to examine the truth.
The lacklustre anti-light of death
Fills my portals and enshrouds my senses
With a horror so complete
That I am barely aware that
I have pulled myself into the mirror.
The emptiness astounds me as emotion begins
To wilt and fade for the lack of life
In this arctic world.
With nothing for my dying soul to absorb,
I feel myself drifting into the steely grip of death.
Staring into features that are clearly my own,
But somehow cadaverous,
I can see a mask being removed from the molten image.
The promise of anonymity betrayed,
I am left facing truth at its zenith.
Epiphany taking hold, and heavy with vertigo,
I am thrust through the radiating web of glass
And back to my own reality.
The lusts of death no longer tempting my murderous hand,
I peer at distorted reflections
And drop the razor into the basin,
Relieved to have been spared the abysmal void
Of anti-life beyond the mirror.