Me, myself and the mirror…-

So the girl stares at what may seem as an insight to her soul.
What do you see? She asks herself.
Pseudo-comfort in what really is a mask to reality?
A broken smile, a faded laugh, a dry tear?

Yet it seems to form a bond that wrecked image
Feels its strange, desires to look away but dares she not..

Her blood seems to be drained, her thoughts dragged to that only thought:
Who are you.. who are you to me?
Comprehending the incomprehensible, or at least trying to…
She sees that life’s like a broken mirror, and glazing at one particular piece
Of what was once an non-shattered incredible masterpiece
She frowns, stares into the abyss and gasps
Whispering to herself, with that last touch of breath, she says:
It all makes sense now, it is my all, it is my nothing: that girl was me… is me.