Misery in Moderation

I see you distantly in the looking glass.

You are ugly, personified.

You make me sick.

A hand arises to trace the contours of your angular face.

To trace the dark shadows of evil which lay under your eyes.

To trace the lips set in sneer.

You speak.

Your voice

Liquid flame

Burning ice

Cutting through the looking glass

Cutting through me

And to the other side of my misery.

You move.

A movement so filled with distaste it hurts

To look at you

To see you smile

That vile expression 

On your face

Be ashamed of your existence.

You poor, deformed thing.

I pity you.

It surprises me you have not been 

Destroyed.

Though any action of destruction 

Taken against you cannot be worse than the

Ruins of your face.


I sigh.

And stop looking at myself.