House of Mirrors

She entered the house of mirrors

by herself,

and examined her appearances:

stretched thin,

squished swollen and bulbous,

spun and swirled

like hard water down a drain.


Her steps reverberated through the hall,

As she assigned implications

to each warped portrait.


Nearing the end of the maze of perverted replicas

she found herself startled by her own reflection.

Not a funhouse distortion, but her proper existence.

The bags below her eyes,

her brittle, bony arms,

the chapped lips,

the lines creasing her forehead.


She decided that this

was not her,

and with that

stepped back into her reality.


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