This mirror on the ceiling,
This mirror on the ceiling,
This mirror on the ceiling;
It does not hide—
The reflection yields a body, not had.
A body they kept trying to rape and drag.
The body of mine straight as line—
But clenched with life, to save mine.
A child raised with fight; A woman crazed dear.
Yet, I am no fawn.
The lights are on— and the cars were all of them staring at me.
They were trying to reposition and condition me; But I held my time and exposed their crime.
Lights. Camera. Action!!!
“I’ve been here before”;
“So don’t worry”…
“You’re stupid”. In that prison—
Remember… “you got no I-dea”…
That you were the plummet of your own psychopathic traction. As you are and will always be, your own hate and downfall.
“It’s a landslide”, and I got my words right.

© Lois Christina