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A recorded reading of “Reflections”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
A mirror in the bathroom— can't you foresee? With a thin line of love, should you believe? White dust laid bare on the glassy sheen, a ritual of pleasure, a craving unseen. A suction of air to inhale the high, a moment suspended, reaching the sky. A short spurt of elasticated life— a rush, a pulse, a cut from the knife. Tell me, please, what do you see? Is it love or just another fantasy? In the haze of the bathroom, under fluorescent light, a line between pleasure and darkness ignites. A quick hit, a fleeting embrace, a taste of heaven that vanishes without a trace. Breath held tight, eyes rolled back— the mirror reflects what the soul may lack. You chase the high, but it’s never enough, the euphoria’s sweet, but the comedown is rough. Is this love, or just another deception? A thin line blurred, a fleeting connection. A moment to feel, a moment to lose— a hit that soothes, a grip that bruises. The mirror stares back, unblinking, cold, a witness to secrets that never get told. Inhaling illusions, believing the lie, that this thin line of love can make you fly. But when the rush fades, the silence remains, a hollow echo in your veins. A short spurt of life, elastic and thin— a touch of ecstasy, then darkness sets in. Please, do you tell—what’s real, what’s pretend? The high is seductive, but it’s never a friend. A mirror in the bathroom, a line on the sink— but in the end, does it make you think? Or are we just chasing reflections of bliss, bound to the cycle of this self-destructive kiss? For the thin line of love is a slippery slope, a promise of heaven, a denial of hope.
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