7 years bad luck

Glass-boned and weary
afraid to face that shiny surface-
punished by its very purpose,
tired eyes turn away
from that blurry mirror image
as if it could cause them damage
and crackling souls burnt like retinas,
gold with the fire of suns unseen
(only vaguely remembering
she once was a beauty queen)
rise up inside this bone-dusted heart,
screaming, screaming; I will be pretty,
smashing the glass, a hand starts bleeding,
the broken mirror falls apart
and twisting like a leaf in the wind,
she follows the shattered pieces, piercing
and just like her reflection,
dissolves into emptiness.