I fight against the thoughts I think,
while staring at the bathroom sink,
regretting that glance at the mirror.
Oh that girl, how I greatly fear her.
She looks at me like I am her prey,
a victim weakly chosen just today.
It seems as though I'm the enemy,
and she has always been hating me,
but what could I have done to her
that would make such hatred stir?
Could it be just my ugly existence,
that brings me such this instance?
That girl I fear bleeds and bleeds,
from millions of wounds, it seems;
she always has a new cut or two,
that drip and ooze like old ones do.
I hate the way that she looks at me,
like all I am is a gross monstrosity
that walks around and hides away,
not caring that I fight to live today.
Maybe she wants me dead right now,
maybe she's even planned on how -
but who am I to judge this odd girl?
Who I notice each day in our world
walk by slowly, cautiously, deathly,
and almost as if it is all unwillingly.
She sees me, and I can see her fine;
it's too bad she hates me all the time.
Goodbye, young and gross mirror girl,
your image now fades from this world.
