My reflection in the mirror hates me,
and I know because she told me so.
She twists and turns and fogs the glass
bending unnaturally while moving with me
she pinches her skin and leaves blemishing marks
tearing off pieces she deems she does not need.
“Just wait,” she whispers as she bites her lip
“only so much longer and I can be free,”
her lips are bleeding again, but I’m brushing my teeth
“free to hurt and bend and break that wonderful body of yours.”
I can hear the whispers, I can hear her skin tearing.
She reaches up and touches the glass
and it bends under the brushing of skin
I finally speak with a tilt of the head
“Imaginary friends shouldn't be able to do that.”