You cannot stomach the smile on her face.
You view it as an object that must be shattered.
Must be cursed into oblivion, non-existence, by you.
You are enslaved to your own primitivity and condemn
Others for it, hurt them all, and you try to catch her and throttle
What has escaped your narcissistic grasp.
We are lifelong contradictory beings.
We contradict each other, from one year
To another. We metamorphose until the
Past doesn’t recognise the present, and the
Present is alien to the future. Is that our magic trick?
I am frightened of identities that never change.
“Young woman before a mirror” by William Merritt Chase (1849-1916)