how i fell out of love with the girl in the mirror

Oliver Smith, England

I should not open the cupboard door. I do not.

She whispers in my ear, and it doesn’t matter

That she is soft (too-soft! speak up girl!).

Words from within always cut the deepest

Because the girl in mirror, she knows my deepest fears,

Knows exactly what keeps me awake at night,

Knows the depth of my hate, the acrid burn of my rage.

Closest to my heart, parasitic and impossible to divorce from my self.

She is a domestic arsonist living within the four walls of my brain

And so I spend my days firefighting the hellfire of thoughts

That blacken the once intricate patterns of my personality.

It is a slow act of picking apart-

She unstitches my reasons, unravelling them to

Find frayed intentions until I am loose-limbed

And unable to stand. (Down on your knees!) I am never valid in her eyes.

No inch of my flesh concealed from her, she is never silent,

Her incessant taunts louder than the spray of the shower head.

The stretch-marks glisten on wet skin and I quickly foam myself up but

It is too late and I am soaked in her presence anyway.

Water runs, gurgling down the drain and I sink into a squat

Eyes fixated to the ripples on the tiles- when was the first stone cast?

I find that I cannot remember.

Monopoly over your life-

Roll the loaded dice but all you have is

A chance that never was.

Because winning is never winning

When it goes unacknowledged

And losing is forever

When it ricochets.

So do not open the door, no,

You know she stands in the mirror,

A copy of you that others never seem to see.

Keep the cupboard doors shut, the monsters stay within.

Oliver is a full-time student and part-time cat slave, who has been writing since they were 8.You can find them on Instagram @oli.writes.