my hands are confined in a loose bracelet like tape, supressing my hands and my feet together
my mind is in it's own finger trap, each cord struggling to get out
The only person that turned the keys was right here in front of me all along.

The mirror was stained with a dark blue shade, the shade of which you would put into the light to see it was navy dark blue or just plain black.

All I ever wanted was to be held, to have someone wipe away my tears and say that it is all okay.

Except I already had that. I held myself back from being able to as much as look at myself in the mirror without shattering myself, I wiped away my own tears before I walked out of my room for the first time since I got home from school hours ago, I say it is okay everyday when he says sorry for the millionth time.

The mirror isn't a mirror anymore, it's just a window into hell.