haircut- writing prompt
Aug. 16th, 2022 09:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tyuA mirror.
It reflects a stranger.
Green eyes peer into my soul curiously, but the owner recoils because I have none. I'm but a recreation, and the mirror reflects the reality. Kasumi Yukimura is dead, and has been dead for 5 years now. Their skin, their flesh and bone, of which there is none, has long since decayed away, and all that's left is the hollow rebirth.
My skin is peeled away, your skin is peeled away to reveal nothing but moss, dirt, and flies. You're not a rebirth, I'm just a delayed reaction.
A mirror.
It reflects a dead person.
Green eyes peer into my own, the same, with resentment. The resentment that crawls up my skin and I want to flinch away, I need to get away, it's all over me now, and what the fuck did you do to deserve this? The cockroaches that have infested this place, this room of 'safety' has turned itself upside down and I'm going to fucking scream if, for one more day, I can't see the differences between you and I, Kasumi Yukimura. One and the same, they say.
I've long since escaped, long since lost my place in this horrible book,
and when I'm back into it,
my hand burns.
It burns.
A mirror.
It reflects a shattered person.
Red.
It's crawling, steady, as if a moment with ease, down. Red is an over exaggeration. Red is the color that is most commonly associated with anger. Kasumi Yukimura, are you angry? It's red, it's red, it's red. I'm not, though. I don't know what that entails. Encoded in me is mere comforting smiles and a relaxed personality and I'm good. Purity in ignorance towards flaws.
Kasumi Yukimura, you need to fix this because I'm not you.
But Kasumi Yukimura is already guiding my hand - she does so with no expression, blank-faced just like I am. You'd confuse them for me were it not for the way it's all in my head.
Kasumi Yukimura is an existence.
I'm just a decaying product of 'give them back, give them back, I don't want to be alone anymore'.
Another day like this is another day I'm just going to turn out like you, Kasumi. Killed by that man with the same intent as always.
...
A pale hand is helping me, smiling at me gently, her eyes are as red as the color.... That's not a very good description. I never was a poet.
A different mirror.
It reflects.
I think she understands me better than I do myself at times -
she is very kind.
When I tell her that I can't look in a mirror because now all I see is someone that I can't possibly be, there are expectations in being the Kasumi Yukimura of the past, she is an understanding presence. She is a girl that looks at me and sees me. She is a girl that is really really pretty.
....
To her, I am pretty, too.
......That's kind of embarrassing, to say, even though we're dating, and she says it to my face whenever she gets the opportunity.
See, she's telling me the same words now.
With a smile that is radiant.
And I'll smile back, and I'll mean it.
I'll mean it.
It reflects a stranger.
Green eyes peer into my soul curiously, but the owner recoils because I have none. I'm but a recreation, and the mirror reflects the reality. Kasumi Yukimura is dead, and has been dead for 5 years now. Their skin, their flesh and bone, of which there is none, has long since decayed away, and all that's left is the hollow rebirth.
My skin is peeled away, your skin is peeled away to reveal nothing but moss, dirt, and flies. You're not a rebirth, I'm just a delayed reaction.
A mirror.
It reflects a dead person.
Green eyes peer into my own, the same, with resentment. The resentment that crawls up my skin and I want to flinch away, I need to get away, it's all over me now, and what the fuck did you do to deserve this? The cockroaches that have infested this place, this room of 'safety' has turned itself upside down and I'm going to fucking scream if, for one more day, I can't see the differences between you and I, Kasumi Yukimura. One and the same, they say.
I've long since escaped, long since lost my place in this horrible book,
and when I'm back into it,
my hand burns.
It burns.
A mirror.
It reflects a shattered person.
Red.
It's crawling, steady, as if a moment with ease, down. Red is an over exaggeration. Red is the color that is most commonly associated with anger. Kasumi Yukimura, are you angry? It's red, it's red, it's red. I'm not, though. I don't know what that entails. Encoded in me is mere comforting smiles and a relaxed personality and I'm good. Purity in ignorance towards flaws.
Kasumi Yukimura, you need to fix this because I'm not you.
But Kasumi Yukimura is already guiding my hand - she does so with no expression, blank-faced just like I am. You'd confuse them for me were it not for the way it's all in my head.
Kasumi Yukimura is an existence.
I'm just a decaying product of 'give them back, give them back, I don't want to be alone anymore'.
Another day like this is another day I'm just going to turn out like you, Kasumi. Killed by that man with the same intent as always.
...
A pale hand is helping me, smiling at me gently, her eyes are as red as the color.... That's not a very good description. I never was a poet.
A different mirror.
It reflects.
I think she understands me better than I do myself at times -
she is very kind.
When I tell her that I can't look in a mirror because now all I see is someone that I can't possibly be, there are expectations in being the Kasumi Yukimura of the past, she is an understanding presence. She is a girl that looks at me and sees me. She is a girl that is really really pretty.
....
To her, I am pretty, too.
......That's kind of embarrassing, to say, even though we're dating, and she says it to my face whenever she gets the opportunity.
See, she's telling me the same words now.
With a smile that is radiant.
And I'll smile back, and I'll mean it.
I'll mean it.
