I see through the mirror of my reflection,
As I gaze in to the unknown depths of myself,
I find myself to get more and more lost,
More and more consumed by the endless potential,
That I may or may not exist.
The endless whirlpool of possibility presents itself to me,
In the form of so many mirrors,
So many reflections.
So many versions of self,
All the sides of potential.
All the different faces I could choose to wear.
To wear to disguise the empty void that cannot be explained,
That cannot be seen.
Which face shall it be? for how can I trust this mirror?
This reflection upon a broken, tainted cracked surface.
How can I trust what is shown to me?
The cracks in this mirror show me the broken parts of myself.
The messy parts, the unhinged parts, the parts that others may not see.
So when I look upon this glass, I am unsure of what I do see.
I see all, I see the physical representation of me.
But tell me, is this really me?