A mere object
Thou are not
Thou are an image
The reflection of my visage.
A visage that breathes in youth
And adorable looks.
Am I this skin and blooming beauty
That you showcase?
Or am I an abyss of colliding thoughts?
Be not proud O transparent glass!
You aren’t god that knows my being.
And if you claim you are true
In what you reflect,
Just show me what lies within
Beneath this claymade skin.
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