The room is made of mirrors.

Mirrors have made me.

I know not night;

I know not day;

The only thing I know

Is my reflection.

There is one light

In the ceiling

That sometimes flickers

Or leaves me in the dark.

I love those times.

In those times I can imagine

A world

Completely different from my own

It has colors,

bright colors,

Like the ones I see

When I close my eyes

And look at the light.

It speaks to me sometimes.

It does not talk as much

Now that my reflection is older

But it still

Comforts me occasionally.

When I inspect my skin

Or twist my hair

To pass the time

It minds me, saying:

“Someday things could change.”

But I just tell it

“I can change nothing

because I only know

my own reflection.”