The girl looked through her mirror, taken with her fears,
She had not noticed the mirror was broken.
The shards of glass twisted her eyes, her crimson tears,
It kept her cries unspoken.
She touched her face, worn with grief,
Her forehead lined with rage.
She stroked the happiness that remained so brief,
The sorrow which was her cage.
Through this mirror, this distorted truth,
This girl saw what remained for her.
She saw her soul that remained aloof,
Her eyes, her breath, her heart, were colder.
This glass watched her as she fell to the floor,
Her spirit had fallen as well.
And the girl as she cried, shut the door,
She had nothing more to tell.
And the mirror laughed at this melancholy,
It smiled as she fell.
This mirror, this glass was all too jolly,
For something damned to hell.
While the mirror stared and perused its gain,
The girl, she sat and wondered.
Would she find a way to shun this pain?
To survive the screaming thunder?
Could she find the love she needed so much?
The love she ran from so often?
Would she live and die without the joy of touch?
Would she be pure and alone in the coffin?
How long could she survive this masquerade?
The mask will fall off before their eyes.
This mirror had seen her face in trade,
Exchanged for the truth and paid for in lies.
And as the girl sat, she took hold of her reflection,
Stroking its sharp face, covered in tears.
She saw its cracked surface, masked by perfection,
She felt the sorrow of her passing years.
Then she smiled a smile that could steal the stars,
Caressing the mirror as she raised her hand,
She clenched her fist as her soul marked its scars,
The mirror was smashed by sorrow's demand.
As a warm, crimson liquid ran down her small fingers,
The girl looked around and the chaos she brought.
Grabbing a piece of the broken mirror that lingers,
She lost her grasp of thought.
She cries and she weeps and she holds out her hand,
And it sits in the air as the room remains still.
As this girl drifts off into a dreamless land,
She screams out a scream that is horrid and shrill.
The glass she picks up slashes her wrists,
As the blood spills in pools on the floor.
The girl, she smiles in this deadly bliss,
Her pain shall remain no more.
Her head becomes dizzy and she cries out in joy,
As she listens to the sound of her heart in her head.
She's nothing but a puppet, a favorite toy,
But she cannot be played with while she is dead.
The darkness now creeps to the edge of her sight,
The blood has stained her face and her soul.
She's no longer innocent of selfish flight,
She's paid her never-ending toll.
As the room becomes dark and the girl begins to spin,
She hears a sound that tickles her heart.
The mirror, it watches and laughs within,
It's done its inhuman, horrid part.
And the mirror looked with its many eyes,
As the child became a twist and a curl,
But the reflection captured was not of death and lies,
But of a little, golden angel girl.