House of Mirrors

It’s not dark, it’s never dark.

I can always see glints of myself,

Of strangers whose bodies

Scatter at the sight of wide pupils.

I can see the way they flicker,

How they scratch their nails against

Clean glass that never cedes.

They want to leave. I don’t blame them.

It’s always bright, too bright.

I close my eyes and I can

Still see the infinity

Of mirrors upon mirrors,

Corridors polished and warped.

When I open my eyes again,

I can hear the strangers, the glass,

Distant and lingering.

Waiting.

I run after them, and my footsteps ring,

But I end where I began.

I look in that mirror

And I swear I see someone else

Reflected in my eyes.