My fists tightly clenched,
I'm standing in front of the mirror.
I'm glaring at my reflection,
Hating the girl I see.
I watch the tears trail down my cheeks.
I stare into my own eyes,
Letting the anger build,
Letting it festeer inside me.
I let out a cry of rage,
And my left fist hits the mirror,
Right where my reflected face is.
The glass shatters and tinkles as it hits the counter.
I pull my arm back and swing again,
Ignoring the shards embedded in my knuckles.
More glass breaks, sprinkling onto the countertop.
There's blood now, trickling down my wrist.
I see it but don't heed it.
My reflection is broken,
Scattered into a thousand pieces.
Just looking into my ruined relfection,
Jaggedly repeated,
I let out a hoarse cry
And drop to my knees.
I put my hands on the top of my head,
One over the other,
And bend over my knees,
Crying openly,
My sobs echoing throughout the bathroom.
I can feel the damp warmth of my blood
Seeping onto my hair and scalp.
My cries become louder,
Turning in to high, keening wails.
There are bits of mirror beneath my knees,
Biting into my skin and drawing more blood.
I squeeze my eyes shut,
Not wanting to see the pieces of glass,
Sparkling coldly in the artificial light.
I've never actually hit a mirror, but I've come close. I have broken a bus window however...