I stand cold and shallow
under the smallest shine of light
and so very often
all I can do is look silently back at you.

Perhaps I reflect you,
the way, in any way,
your eyes look into mine.

Perhaps in some way, I can feel
that cold burn of anger
seep under my skin
like third degree burns.

Perhaps I always knew
that needle of distrust
lodged in the small of my back
like a gentle touch of a lover's hand.

And rarely, I feel a warmth
break through the cool surface
and into the realm that is me;
whatever I am.

And only then, I realize,
I became.

Like a breath of life,
spring, and a new beginning;
perhaps finally I feel the touch of sunlight
and I bask in the warmth.

Your eyes try to hide
but I inadvertently see it all
the hot and the cold,
pins and knives and the lack of your shadow

I wonder which one of us demands it all back?
Beating against the surface to break it all free.
But never to save me.
To take it all back, and never to save me.

And when a shadow casts over me,
and you are no longer there,
I struggle in the cold
with memories of a warmth

A dilemma,
a constant battle,
a madness
and amidst it all, this mirror might shatter.