Narcissist inc.

My Idea of Hell is a roomful of mirrors, look directly into one and it cracks. The mirrors metamorphosize you, each one holding someone you love trapped, torn, in pain. Touch it, and they die, smile and they bleed deeper, cry louder, hurt more.
You stare at their faces and are forced to think of situations where they’ve been contorted in the same positions, hearts bleeding, eyes red and swollen, body contracting, moments where their faces are contorted in grief, instances where their bodies look like they can shatter at the least touch, a hug, anything, nothing.
And then you remember. They blind you, your memories. Once you start, you can’t stop.
That’s your mother, the day you told her you hated her, threw that ugly glass vase, an antique, slammed the door in her face and stalked off to smoke up.
That’s your sister, the day you screamed at her and called her a promiscuous bulimic bitch. You begged for her to die and laughed as she held the cold silver kitchen knife to her thin veined hands, so like yours.
That’s your brother, the day you broke his nose with your tennis racket and how you refused to apologize because he ‘told that boy you had a thing for that you had a thing for him’.
That’s you father, the day you failed math and told him you wanted to drop out of school and be a bartender, the day you screeched at him for loving you less and ran away for the night.
That’s your best friend.
That’s your ex boyfriend.
That’s your favourite cousin.
That’s your soulmate….
Round and round and round
They’re all there, their pain tearing scars across your body and your mind.
Only you can make them stop, take it back, kiss their hurt away and bandage their wounds.
But you can’t.
You’ve lost the choice.
Welcome to Hell.