What do you see?
Tell me. What is the image cast
before you: its shape, its texture, its color?
Are you speechless? Has the Devil
gotten hold of your tongue? There’s no
need for that furrowed brow. Who’s
kidding whom? What did you think this life
was about anyway, huh? Talk to me. Do you even see your image in the mirror, or
are you once again gazing into the abyss?
Sad, twisted features stare you down, yet you look past this visage and
into black space. Are you upset? Have I upset you? What? Don’t
look away. After all, I’m all you’ve
got.
