reflection squared

the image in the mirror isn’t you,
though it looks like you and acts like you,
it’s face, too, seems such an odd shape,
it’s smile too forced, it’s eyelids too low,
and you’re reminded so much of yourself.

but when, in the desperation of night’s cold,
you throw yourself into its arms,
it shatters, cuts you, destroys your fragile countenance.

now there are a hundred,
none of them you.
regardless,
you start an army,

a throng of reflections looking to each other for answers.