Let’s play a game, you and I,
by you, of course, I mean you, the person on the other side of the mirror,
are you ready for my little game, the one I have created?
Are you ready to build walls so high that no one can possibly break them,
to close your mind to contingencies until all that is left is the failed plan,
and keep at the same plan over and over,
label yourself a failure, and refuse to move on?
Then lie, and hide, and keep at this game with the rest of the world
until your cover is about to blow, and the shattered pieces are about to show,
and everyone is about to know how many chinks there are,
in your armor of indifference and apparent lack of empathy.
Can you take it, you fragile piece of glass? You are a maggot, weakling, worm.
You know what you deserve? You deserve this, you deserve this game
where the only way to win is to lose everything, and cry.
Wait, don’t cry from your eyes just yet. There on a shelf lies your salvation.
Glinting like a twinkling star, a sharp edge, skin, draw blood from deep within.
And again and again, break yourself than how broken you are,
tear every last shred apart and cry at how unsightly you become.
This time cry from your eyes. Now look at me.
Look at me, you on the other side of the mirror,
you have to pretend. We must both pretend.
Let’s pretend we have nothing to hide, let’s pretend we’re not fucked up inside,
let’s pretend we’re enjoying the ride that is tearing us to bits.
Swimming in a pool of your blood that no one can see, I lie alone.
I tell them I’m fine, when I’d rather go back to the blade,
there is nothing wrong with one more, just one more.
Like Desdemona’s kiss, one more and this the last.
But the last has just begun.

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