Face. Break. Echo. Erase. Glass on my tongue. Blood in the frame. I wear a thousand masks— and none say my name. Hall of… [cut] —rors bleed. Every face— [glitch] none are me. Shatter / scatter / splinter / scream. Choose / refuse / lose / dream. “…not yours. Not theirs. Mine.” Step in. One reflection smiles. Another weeps. None are true— and all are me. I walk the glass corridors, my face a thousand faces. Some forgive, some accuse, all demand I choose. Every pane is a promise, every crack is a wound. Do I shatter to escape— or let the mirrors bloom? In the hall of mirrors, truth bends, folds, breaks. I am more than one reflection, but which one will you take? The mirror laughs with my voice. It cries with my shame. It whispers, “If you walk further— you will never be the same.” A thousand hands reach from the glass. A thousand eyes look back. If I smash them all to silence— do I still survive the crack? Hall of mirrors— none are whole. Hall of mirrors— bleeds my soul. Hall of mirrors— I walk through flame. Hall of mirrors— I rise unnamed. Face. Break. Echo. Erase.
