There once was a boy in the mirror.
I used to see him there everyday.
He'd always looked so sad and say,
"Please!  Can you help me get out?
Somehow, I'm trapped in here!"
I'd ignore him.  He wiped away all his tears.

One day was different from the others.
The boy had bruised arms and eyes.
I asked him what was wrong but he spoke only lies.
"Nothing much," he said.  "I just fell off my bike."
I know he wasn't telling the truth to me,
but I said nothing and let him be.

The next day came and went.  A full moon climbed the stars.
I awoke to a sound in the middle of the night
and was blinded by the moon's glorious light.
Perhaps the boy would still be up.
I walked to the mirror and found him there.
Blood coated his dark hair.

He sat up and looked at me scared, then shocked.
Slowly, he stood up in front of the glass.
"I'll be fine," he said.  "It won't last."
I wiped my eyes and walked back to bed.
He worried me.  I hoped the cause would go away.
I wanted everything to be okay.

I searched for him in the morning.
He was at the mirror but sleeping.
His face was red from recent weeping.
"Trapped," I said aloud to myself.
"He said he was trapped in the glass.
I hope that this will all pass."

That evening, I saw him again.
He had stitches and a shaved head
and red gashes from the belt on the bed.
He tried to hide his face when he saw me.
I asked, "What happened to you?"
"Dad--I mean, I fell down stairs.  You could too."

The next morning I asked him the same thing.
"Like I said, I fell down the stairs.
I'm not hurt bad.  Nobody cares."
"I do," I said.  "I think you're cool."
But I couldn't convince him otherwise.
Still, hopelessly, I tried.

Years have passed between then and now.
I still see the boy all the time.
We're teenagers and everything's fine.
At least, that's what he says.
He wears long sleeves to cover his arms.
I don't know what happened but they're covered in scars.

He tells me how bad his life is.
He says, "You're too nice.  Like the others, I must've made you up."
"That's not true," I say.  "Look here, we can touch."
We place our hand on the mirror and stare at each other.
"I guess you are real," he admits.  "Fine."
I smile.  "Hey, being wrong is not a crime."

One day he tells me, "Come closer to the glass."
He rests his hand over mine.  "This is our secret.
Never tell.  Promise me you'll keep it."
I nod to let him know I agree.
"I've found a way to get out of here.
I'll no longer be trapped by pain and fear."

He stands, pulls a cord around his neck and jumps.
He squirms and lets out ghastly sounds.
I panic and time seems to slow down.
You see, we are identical in almost every way.
We've become a part of each other.
We share everything with one another.

I guess, I never knew how he truly felt.
His body stops twitching.  He is gone.
I gaze, horrified, at the boy I knew for so long.
The mirror turns into pitch darkness.
He really wanted to be free.
Understand, the boy in the mirror is me.