The Horror in the Reflection

It isn’t me. It’s you.

You, in the mirror—static, smug,

unblinking. You,

with your perfect composure

while I twitch and scratch and bite my own tongue

bloody. You,

Bloody, you!

the lacquered fraud behind the glass. Don’t act like

you don’t know what you are.

You don't know what you are!

-

You are what’s left when I gave up.

When I swallowed the scream and stitched on a smile.

When I let them rename me with every touch that didn’t ask.

-

You are not a reflection. Reflections move. You

don’t. You just stare,

Don't you just stare!

collecting every version of me

I tried to drown, cataloguing them like trophies. You

remember the night I took the pills.

Remember the night I took the pills?

You remember

the name I whispered when I came and regretted it. You

remember what I looked like

Remember what I looked like?

before I carved myself into something less—

less noisy, less weird, less queer, less me.

-

I can see the shape of my mouth in yours and I want to break it.

Not because you lie.

But because you

don’t.

Don't!

-

You’re the proof I was always

pretending. You’re the real one,

aren’t you? You’re the original.

Aren't you the original?

I’m just the

echo, the actor,

The actor, the actor, the actor, the...

the emergency version called up when the lights went out. You

sit there

with that face I used

to call mine

and wear it better than I ever

did. You

Did you?

don’t blink

Don't blink!

because you don’t need to.

You’ve already seen the end.

-

You’re the one who stayed behind when

I ran.

I ran...

The one who watched

when I spread my legs and forgot who I was.

The one who counted the fingers.

The one who held the breath.

The one who

liked it.

Liked it?

-

And I’m supposed to pretend you’re not the monster?

You're not the monster.

-

Fuck you.

Fuck you!

-

You don’t get to be still and

righteous. You

don’t get to be

silent and whole. You

don’t get to be the better me.

I clawed my way out of you.

I carved a shape from your ruins.

I killed you a thousand times and you keep coming back

like mold under the skin.

-

You’re not a reflection. You’re a

curse. The name

I can’t un-know.

A shape I still fit inside when no one’s watching.

-

I hate you.

I made you.

I need you.

-

And that’s the part that guts me.

-

Not me.

But you.

And that’s the bloody horror of it.

.