The rot starts at the bottom corners

The rot starts at the bottom corners,

a black, jagged lace eating the silver away.

It looks like the glass is catching a disease,

or maybe the wall behind it is finally breaking through.

I was just trying to floss.

But I looked up and the eyes in the frame

weren't mine for a second—they were just wet marble,

something heavy and animal and lost.

I stood there with the mint string between my teeth,

waiting for the reflection to catch up.

But the mercury is leaking, the backing is thin,

and I am dissolving into the black edges

before I can even finish the sink.