The mirror is a conduit —
through which exerts despair;
try not to look — dysmorphia
will show you what's not there.
And you'll be crawled up in your bed,
your skin will bleed as you dig them in;
it'll hurt — but it'll hurt less
than seeing what you've been.
The mirror is an architect —
the crafts of whom are lies.
You can't be who you're looking at,
no, that can't be right.
You've just got to peel it off —
this sick, disgusting skin;
then you'll be perfect — as you've wished,
as they have always been.
Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare.
It's fake. It's not true. It's always been there.
Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare.
You're spotless. It's perfect. Look away. Don't stare.
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 7:02 PM UTC
The mirror is a conduit —
through which exerts despair;
try not to look — dysmorphia
will show you what's not there.
And you'll be crawled up in your bed,
your skin will bleed as you dig them in;
it'll hurt — but it'll hurt less
than seeing what you've been.
The mirror is an architect —
the crafts of whom are lies.
You can't be who you're looking at,
no, that can't be right.
You've just got to peel it off —
this sick, disgusting skin;
then you'll be perfect — as you've wished,
as they have always been.
Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare.
It's fake. It's not true. It's always been there.
Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare. Don't stare.
You're spotless. It's perfect. Look away. Don't stare.
