For each mask, the mirror waits.
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The mirror does not show–
It waits,
Its glass mouth open,
Stretched wide,
Hungry.
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Each of my glances
A sacrifice given;
My false laugh
The pout of doubt
An offering.
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It cleans my soul,
Pulls down my mask–
Polished, clear,
A stranger
Who knows.
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But some shadow
I hide deep,
Its darkness unmirrored
Obscure enough
To resist.
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But one day
It will emerge–
And swallow
The glass predator
With truth.
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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
