Who is that I see gazing back at me?
Fragmented into smithereens, with tears streaming down her face
I detest the silouhette I see
She's the epitome of weakness
Of paramount negativity
She is inferior and self-pitying
Wailing, saying she has done her best
Finding excuses...fabricating lies to conceal her inner turmoil
I hate her.
She pounds her fist at the mirror, resenting everyone for all the misfortunes and calamities in her life. Her cowardity and self deprecation is unparelled.
The mirror is shattered and all she sees is her broken self
Why do I hate her with such a fervent passion? You may ask...
That's because I know her better than anyone else, I see through her...she is naked, bare and transparent in front of me
Because I am a silent listener to her thoughts...
Because I bear witness to her actions...
Because I instinctively sense every emotion she has
Because...she is me