Just Crack AlreadyI’m wait for the glass to crack. I’m waiting for a break in the glass. I’m waiting for it to shatter into a hundred thousand million pieces. I’m waiting for the reflection to become broken. I’m waiting for the fibres to cringe. I’m waiting for the pieces to crumble into power. I’m waiting for it to be nothingness.
The funny part – I have cracked a mirror. No punches. No kicks. No slamming of an ob
The small pieces break-up the extended picture. The minimise the damage. They hide the faults. They hide fugitives of gruesomely horrendous ugliness. The physical beast is covered. It’s hibernating in the glass. All the flaws: every uneven, deformed, out-of-place overdone, underdone, missing aspect, are hidden from the eye. In a neat, untampered glass, that doesn’t happen. The reflection if clear.
The person stares back at me. The character is just as messed up as the body. At first glance, she looks friendly, safe, innocent, ordinary like any girl should be. A closer look brings darkness. One discovers an impurity. A nastiness. Her smile is fake. Her eyes don’t shimmer with happiness. I hate the reflection. The appearance and the personality.
And I know that person frowning back, is me.