Me And My Mirrors

• Winnie Laws, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2011

through whats seems to be the reamains of a door
down down the mould rugged stairs
through another solid solider, wooden in its stance
into a room, small and cramped
around, filled with mirrors dirty , messing with my reflection
around and around all i see is myself and me
off the edge into an abyss, crayziness overcomes and i turn mad, madder than ever
i look at my hands and see my face
is this real or am i decevied by mirrors
i will never know stuck here
me and my mirrors