The Mirror

The Mirror

The mirror tortures me. 

It shows me my soul. 

Red in colour, dipped in blood. 

It shows me my soul. 

Blood of a honest man, 

Husband to a wife. 

Father to a son. 

And how I killed him. 

The mirror reminds me, 



This is why I killed him. 

The mirror yells at me, 

that I have blood on my hands, 

and stains on my shirt. 

When I see them, 

they disappear. 

I try to wash those stains, 


I cry. I scream. 

Then the mirror just smiles, 

and shows me my face. 


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Satvik Vatsa
I find the right words and they are simple. Love surprise endings.
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