There are cracks upon the mirrors,
Is it random or by design?
As I gaze in horror, wandering,
Through this madhouse of my mind,
Each contorts disturbingly,
Yet familiar, it is mine,
And I flinch upon my pondering,
At the images, yet to find,
Through darkened pathways spiraling,
As tortured thoughts entwine,
To obscure and bar the exit,
With broken mirrors, left behind,

JHenry