Theres cleaning powder on my teeth and I'm resisting the urge to swallow, it would mean to take in your poison and I do not intend to go by the directions on the box. I saw her in the bathroom mirror, the one you speak of in your sleep she's very pretty, and her cold grey eyes remind me of the nights we spend together. She whispered once to me, accidentally of course, swearing when she cut herself with your razor and the blood rest upon the wall, which I had mistaken for misplaced hair dye. I put shaving cream on the mirror to stop the condensation for those long hot showers you take. And I open the winds in chance, that she might frighten and slip out. You assure me she is a figment of my imagination, and I agree. Because the girl in the mirror is a portrait of me when I was happy, when you were out of town.