Mirror, Mirror

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Look at me,

standing across from thee, And the truth

be told to me, Who is the most beautiful

of us all?", I ask of the mirror, Standing

so tall, With it's ancient golden rims, And

an array of the most refined whims. I

admire my fragile beauty, And the

lusciousness I see. I fold my polished

fingers, Around the comb, And run it

through my hair, so smooth, The color of

shining timber. Before my very eyes, I

see the mirror, coming to life, With an

aura of charismatic strife, And then I hear

its voice. "Oh mere one, I look at thy, And

the beauty that I spy, Is one that no one

dare dislike.", My painted lips spread

open in a smile.

"Though I wilt tell you, It is no question at all. Doth

what thee may choose to do, But thou shalt never be

the most beautiful of us all.". The comb slips out of

my hand, And lands on the floor. Glaring at the

mirror, I stand, And roar, "Then thou shalt enlighten

me, Who is it that thee so adore? Who is the most

beautiful of us all?", The mirror lets out a sigh, And

says, "It is I. I am the most beautiful of us all.", Torn in

anguish, I ask, "Why?", "Because all the beauty of the

world, Inside me, I carry, That is why, my child, I am

the most beautiful of us all.". At that, I laugh. I stretch

out my hand, Rake the mirror out of its stand, Spin it

around, And hurl it to the ground. It smashes to a

thousand tiny splinters, Then I step on it till every inch

shatters. My feet bleed, with shards of glass, But I

don't care for the scars. I'm crying tears of agony, so

hot, But I'm laughing too.

I pick up a scrap of the glass, And look at it

with triumph and doom, "Doth what thee

may choose to do, In hell, may thee

rot, For, now it is no question at all, I shalt

remain the most beautiful of us all."