A little girl stands in the mirror.
She sings sweet nothings as she winds  mild-long daisy chains through her wild hair
Her laugh is sweet and innocent
She is bathed in the gentle light of day

The mirror shattered.

The girl is a decade older
She no longer sings
She weeps
Silently, it seems, but listen
closely
and you might hear
the screams
trapped
in her lungs
She appears to be soft
Exhausted by her sorrow
Get closer and you see her rest is a façade
The girl is contemplating the cold metal clenched in her fist
and it all becomes clear.

The mirror shattered

A response to her invisible power
The has painted no red
She lays in razor blades and shards of glass
But she
is
in
tact.