I cry glass shards that roll down my face. These tears tear the skin off my cheeks. My red-soaked skin can be mistaken for my tears, the way they roll down my chin, and drip over the shattered mirror below my feet. I'm blind, I can see and not see. The glass shards pierce my vision, yet with the blood that cleanses my eyes, I can observe my surroundings, but never understand. How can we truly see? Beyond the concave drops of my tears. All around me is blurry, even the convex lens can't save me. Look at my feet, the sharp mistakes I step on as my tears collect at the ground to create a mirror. I see fragments of my reflection looking back but I can't ever reflect. I squat to look closer, but I feel farther away. A ray of light hits, and I see a thousand me. But I can't truly see myself in these shards of glass. They prick like the truth, they're beautiful like lies. A kaleidoscope of alternatives, but where is the real one?
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