Crack in the Mirror

My voice fractures,

splits open like glass.

The heat floods in,

face blooming red beneath cold light.

I am caught—bare and raw,

drifting beneath a thin skin stretched tight.

Each word a crack,

beneath it, the tremble of blame.

Eyes dart away,

a mirror fogged by breath,

I try to swallow the shape of regret,

but it lodges like stone in my throat.

Shame curls its slow coil,

a weight I wear without armor,

etched deep beneath the skin,

a mark that won't fade tonight.