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Schizophrenic Grief

061/365

Staring contest with the mirror. Tear waterfalls cheeks. The aftermath of a disaster. In a maddened fit of rage anyone would put their head through the mirror. The mirror didn’t shatter this time, the flesh did.

There lay a shattered soul, millions of pieces. Meanwhile, the reflection stands, chin high. It observes the nothing where the broken heart once stood.

“You can’t wait to eat who?” It says.

The fragmented person can’t respond.

“You might win out there, but I always win in here,” it sings.

Shreds of body form together and rebuild the original frame, minus its sense of reason. A car without a driver.

The reflection brushes itself off, the body does too.

Suddenly this empty vessel finds itself on the mirror side with the reflection standing in their place. And the reflection adjusts its outfit. The soulless nothing in the mirror stands motionless. Even after the reflection walks away, there stays a broken heart.