My words scramble down the paper, they flow restlessly and form lines - lines of pain, lines of black blood trickling down the white sheet of paper, soaking it with dark circles. They do not tell a story and they do not tell the truth. My words are but my reflected image put down, not in a drawing, but in a sketch of lines and countless question marks.
My words are the obnoxious part of me, the one that is trapped somewhere deep inside the abyss of my soul. For that who does not recognize darkness inside is but a mere fool. Darkness is there: in you, oh yes, in you too. It's like a seed planted way before time, a seed fallen from the maggoty forbidden fruit Eve has picked out as the most delicious apple there was in Eden's Garden. And it's growing... day by day, minute by minute, it spreads its roots and it cages your heart into an iron-like fist. It torments your soul, it makes you scream from the inside. That is not you. That is not the real you! That is not who they're supposed to see, to judge. But there you are, trapped, a porcelain doll among so many others.
And there's nothing that could deliver your soul from evil.
But these are my words, my magical power, my way of defeating the dragon at the end of the story. For I got the power to say when it's done and the power to write 'Fin' at the end of this book. It's mine - the power belongs to me.
So come meet me, dear reflected image. Come meet me, to settle this once and for all! For I see the way you try to stretch out of your glassy mirror, your eyes rummaging around for a hand to hold on. I recognize that look in your eyes - after all, your face mirrors my own feelings... And I do not want to end up trapped behind glossy glass!
So come meet me, dear reflected image. These are my words, my world, my salvation. I will give him up to you, 'cause he's turned blind and cannot see the bloody tears rolling down my cheeks. He never really did anyway...
These are my words.
I'm part of you just as much as you grow inside of me - the symptoms of a new disease.