Candle in a Mirror

It lurks behind the mirror glass.

Something with a twisted back.

It raised a candle holder brass.

Glowing light & dripping wax.

Every mirror, every window, candle lit.

I fear yet that mirror world so dim.

I think it may be the world of wit.

It’s pulsing & shifting & oh so grim.

It squints a hollow socket stare.

It turns toward you a little bit.

I think it sees beyond the air.

You see something behind it.

It turns off the bathroom lights.

It could push you down the stairs.

It burns, it sings, it blurs the lines.

It turns from your frowning glare.

Something in shadow rumbled low.

It sniffles & gives a little whine.

It shutters at whispers beyond the glow.

Mutters & whimpers & twisting spine.

It isn’t something I’d wish to know.

You regret your epic posters.

It laughs & cries & squints so slow.

You forget it’s getting closer.

Something’s moving in the attic.

Should you greet it in your loafers?

Every touch is gentle static.

Don’t forget it’s getting closer.

It seems to flee to you.

It runs from something colder.

It seeks something true.

Remember, it’s getting closer.

It doesn’t breathe, turning blue.

It fears what dwells the cold.

It stinks like dead things do.

It reeks the smells of mold.

The holder’s handle shimmers brown.

Its lips stretch to tightened cheeks.

The holder smiles with hungry jowls.

It’s been sharpening its teeth.

Its wet bog tears splash down.

Weeping, giggling, whimpering, ghoul.

Its breath fogs the glass now.

Leaking glittery, wispy drool.

As the lit wick cuts to the quick.

The mercury surface drips like glue.

As the grim grin ripples thick.

The Candle flame is coming through.

It’s shining from within.

You already know it’s true.

It’s sprouting from your skin.

That thing is inside of you.