by Dallas Burkham

Created on: May 31, 2010

I look.

There she is, with sleepy eyes, looking right into mine.

Her hair sits in waves; full of little strays.

Flakes of last night’s enhancement rest on her lazy eyelashes.

The striped rays of morning sunlight;

Swim through the blinds and land on her fare skin.

She blinks.

She is alive.

Something I recognize is inside of her…

A monster, so caliginous and hostile-

A literal disease she helplessly takes in;

Without the comprehension of the possibility that she can soothe the laceration.

She reaches out to touch the glass that separates us.

I watch as my arm mimics hers, without my consent.

I realize that the mental instability her brain consumes;

Is the very same fog that consumes me.

She is me.

I am her.

The insecurities we exchange;

Ruminate the remaining beauties that are so exhausting to search for.

She is so beautiful.

She is so disgusting.

She is so talented.

She is so useless.

My thoughts shatter and I am brought back to reality.

I must be psychotic to stare into that mirror;

Expecting to see a different person.

She must be deranged to continue to humor my obsessive disposition.

I love her.

I hate her.

She is me.

I am her.

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