Bodies become narrow
Thin sheets reflecting
Nothing, only surroundings.
Millions of images bounce about
Mystic lust and violent rage
A soulless avenue to openness
Flat are the mirrors with nothing
Behind, only depicting
Begging to imitate
The same reflection as the rest
Reflecting.
All mirrors are alike
Stuck in the ever present
Never forward, never back
Flat, narrow, faceless
Mirrors live for
Depend on the outside
For it tells mirrors
What to be.