Presumptions

reflections she knows are only a part of the illusion. years and seconds the same. as the light inflicts its paper cuts on nervous fingers. the winter boasts its weight as she gathers the remains of seasons past. the colors change. this hysteria of skin waits confidently for her consent.

the mirror waits. for her to react. sharp pieces. and broken images. That's the beauty of the glass. If you turn out the lights you can see everything out there. If you choose to leave them on. the reflection is what you're left with. all those small things. that tend to get big.

she travels on the sun. hot enough to hate. or to love. too many choices. she sleeps on the moon. orbiting the moment. in pieces of glass.

the world coughs and wheezes. and even as it's dying, still refuses the cure.

the mirror debates. which face to choose. there are many. too many. and the truth lurks somewhere inside one of them.