Ghost in the Mirror

The orange flame flickers.
Touch it.
The orange flame burns.

The mirror shows a figure through a sliver of moonlight.
An amalgamation of bone and hair and guts and skin.
What is that? Is that me?

I don't know.

Peeling away layer after layer

What am I?

Don't know.

Apart.

At the core of this thing, there are memories.
Dreams.
Mine?

The little glass jar that holds the spheres of my dreams cracks in my hands and shatters into a million pieces.

Pearl-drop dreams clink to the floor where I'll never see them again.

I cut my hands on the glass trying to pick up the pieces.

That can't be all there is.

Scrounging, scraping

No dreams left.

No self left.

Slivers and shards of glass are buried deep in my skin, bleeding, painful. Real.

I won't pull them out.

They'll be my new dreams.

And my new

Self.