It looks at me.

Sitting on the fireplace
with the painted flames,
next to the mirror
at an awkward height.
It looks at me.

It has no eyes, but holes
into nothingness.
It has no mouth, nor tongue
but I can hear its laugh,
scorning, disapproving, judging.

Do you ever catch yourself
looking at your reflection
and noticing something
in your eyes
that was not there before?

It looks at me.

There is fear, and loathing,
and at the same time curiosity.
I look into its eyes,
I look into the mirror,
and I see the reflection
staring back.

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