The miror game

We make love on a broken miror and we all get injuries. Who is she? Her body all naked is still dressed, as the miror can't see.

We get really angry. Why the pieces are that many. We choose to unsee, maybe because it's scrary. We prefer to make the noise of silence of the first time they went two, then so many. Tears of rage blur the body as she stab her image, only in a look.

I can be all of her, and none of her, like every piece was in pieces.

I cut to blood thinking she’s gonna leave. Sometimes I think of leaving her because she’s too close of me. If I could, I would enter into her heart to write theirs names, just to make sure to forget.

I work to blood to please their fantasy, to full all of their image of me. We are in an immense theater where there is more actors than seats. And it's all me.

I see wath I would like her to be, or wath she deserve to be. She is the best part of me, even if sometimes it bring the worst out of me.

Why could'nt she see?

She’s perfect untilt the glass break. Than she’s ugly. I wont repear her. I can’t repeat that. How many person I tried to fix like that, giving my own pieces. How many person tried to fix me?

When I look closer, the disasterpiece look’s like a tousand of me.

She is broken.

How could she be in love, only by parts. One day she love me. Than she hate me.

She’s never gonna be the same as I first saw her. It was only a piece of her, in a piece of me. I was too close, they were too many. One day she’s signing, the other day she’s screaming.

I scream.

Who is who in that miror game.

I first tought she looked like me. The way she was always solid -until she was only weak. The way I thought I knew everything about her is the day I realised it was only one of her disasterpiece.

She is just like cristal in a storm of ''look at me''. Pieces that cannot form anything but clumpsy.

She's pretty. She's ugly.

It's sharp, dangerous maybe.

Miror only reflect, they can't see.