Examining the image of her own reflection in glass Sara Young comments on the fragility of her own mental state in a moment of crisis.
I hold my reflection in my hands.
The glass looks so fragile,
I worry it might break.
The blurred mass I hold,
In the glass stares at me,
But does not see.
Two hollow inlets house
Vacant eyes, which glaze over,
As though icing, on a cake.
Soured-milk white
Complexion twists into
Skin stretched over a skeleton.
Two crusted, dry
Red-stained lips
Part for the screeching mouth.
