Mirror, mirror, cracked and cruel,
I kiss the shards, still wet with blue;
Eve’s apple stuck between my teeth,
Psyche’s wings beat loud beneath.
Behind the door the roses bleed,
I braid their thorns into my creed;
call me the bride of every sin,
I walk the aisle with violin.
Lock up the moon, auction the sun,
I’ll pay the price—becoming one
with every ghost that dared to wear
my borrowed skin, my savage prayer.