Did you hear, Magic Mirror?

My best friend said she suffers from depression.
Last week, she slit her stomach and tumbling out came a pile of ribbons.
A glittery red, spread out on the bed, they slowly melted through the floor and sank beneath the boiling surface.

Did you hear, Magic Mirror?

The boy across the street says he models for fun.
Except, he doesn't wear any clothes.
Except, there isn't any show.
Just a camera, his stepdad, and four carefully shuttered windows.

And did you hear, Magic Mirror? About the man they found sprawled face down in a ditch?

His skin a soft white, lips a blood red, he'd laid there quietly for a couple of days.
Maybe three.
Maybe five.
Carved jaggedly into his pale forehead: ******.
In fact, all over his mangled body, like a demonic chant that hisses and wails.
******, ******, ******.

Did they ever consult you, Magic Mirror?
Longing for answers of identity and love, you spat in their vulnerable face, cutting them with your vicious shards.
Like soft ash, harsh gasps of air blew them away into the deep blue night, where they gently landed in unrequited tears.