it'll take a minute for the heat to flow to there.
i don't know about the girl there, in the mirror,
but she looks back at me as if she does.
she sits calmly,
sedate.
staring.
no, just looking.
i turn my head.
i cannot meet her stare.
i cannot look into her eyes.
i don't want to see, what she does.
(composed while dreaming about reading an essay to Cicily Tyson. seriously.)
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