He stared at the mirror until
his reflection moved different
thus revealing his enemy
this doppelganger hidden
behind his dresser glass.
He punched—shattered it
scattering this entity into
a million sharp reflections,
pie slices of his psyche
now bathed in blood.
He awoke in a white room
of happy bliss and rubber
patched up and restrained
in a jacket of crossed arms
thinking this must be heaven.
But then hell welcomed him
group sessions with losers
and the red devil babbling
about letting the pain fly and
reliving a broken childhood.
He painted vivid pictures
of his pain and abuse
in colors not seen before
checked the right squares
stayed cordial and nice.
So they let him go rehabbed
and happy as he'd planned
because one more enemy
hid in the bathroom glass
and he had to finish the job.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem