Seven years ago, seven years to go

I thought my mischance was gone,

But as I opened the door, you flung off the wall and become a bundle of messy shattered shards. 

Stunned, I was, as I tiptoed around you.

Where do I start, how to pick up the pieces?

It was the seventh day of my week. It was blissful until you cracked. 

I picked you up whilst your pieces scratched and bore into my vessels.

I profusely bled all over you. Emotionless face, motionless you. 

The little one told Mama. 

You fell on me before. Seven years ago.

Mama cleaned it up without hesitation. 

They said its not good for me and they said good luck. 

It took me seven years to realise, and in seven years I will realise

that your myths aren’t true at all. 

Mirror, mirror on the wall.

You saw me at my worst yet you never spilled my secrets.

I smiled at you everyday for you to envy my perfection. 

You bow down to me on the ground even though you’re broken. 

You couldn’t take me anymore, so you gave in. 

The brightest of suicides ever seen. 

Your deafness was for the best.

Screams, thunder, lorries, hurricanes, colliding plates with floor.

Soft, hysterical crying. 

Sounds you were oblivious to. 

Mirror, mirror on the wall.

I lifted you up and you crackled some more. 

I didn’t know you during your hay days

but now I know that I am nothing without you. 

Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Look at me once more 

while I examine myself in your shrivelled body 

and endless blindness haunts you.