She looks at herself in the mirror
and sees an unfamiliar version of 'what could have been'
her skin is translucent
arteries are illustrated throughout her bare chest and arms
she looks down
it is not the body that she built
it is not the statue that she sculpted
there are legs but they do not run
they are latent and purposeless and blue

She looks back up
touches the mirror--right where her bowed lips are
they have not been grazed by another being since the last time she saw herself
the bags underneath her eyes
scream
I have been carrying too much
her eyes which once shone with possibility and ambition are now glazed over--impossible to reach

She hears herself speak
her vocal chords do not hum
instead she hears the words that she has written
as if her own poetry were a curse

She looks in the mirror
five minutes before she needs to leave for another day of something that someone somewhere deemed important
somewhere...

She turns around
back to the mirror
nose pressed
head down
ignoring her own cry for help