On Mirrors And Impurities

You want to try and love yourself but when mirrors are demons its hard to give the benefit of the doubt
To the claws and fangs you see threatening to devour every part of you that makes you whole.
But does that make you the bad guy or the good guy? They reflect what you are but what if you cant see what there is?
What if your tired eyes are blind to the realities the mirror shows, so when you look you see the demons and monsters that creep into what you know
They creep in to corrupt your bright vision, clouding with cataracts of selfhate and a fog of distortion.
You're no longer pure. Carefully clean out your body with rules and measures.
Reduce your demons to gnats but they always come back.

People push past you, heavy weights of anxieties and fears bustling along just like you.
You wonder why they cant see the shroud you wear and why no one else seems to wear one either.
The boy next to you doesn't eat his salad, the girl two doors down turns on the shower so they don't hear her purify herself
But what they don't tell you is you're not pure. You're not impure. Ridding the food from your body wont pull out the demons.
Building a wall in front of your mouth wont block out the bullshit.
Purify or putrefy its a pendulum swing of maybes and perhaps'
It's the difference between control or willpower lapses but it never goes the way you think.
Are you letting your body stagnate and fall, or emulating fae and gods and their links?

You want to try and love what you see but when mirrors are demons and your eyes see only impurities it's hard.
You want to be able to stop the numbers lining your skull and buzzing around until you want to scream but you dont say a word.
You want to be ok, but when a parasite of self hate whispers insults and critisisms into your heart
It's hard.