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.