Safe on a tightrope,
falling from a microscope.
Drowning in a pool of stars,
purchasing our pretty scars.
Writing things on the wall,
using honey and a tiny scrawl.
Forever fighting our mirrors,
slaying those ugly little flaws.
This is how we get our claws.
Like Narcissus of old,
trapped in front of a reflection bold.
Only she dislikes what she sees.
