I’m wondering what it must have been like, the first time I tried to kill me. I can’t imagine the frame of mind,
Even now, I’m replaying it in my head, the stark white face, the mirror image overexposed in such a way that it was almost translucent.
All I know is that one minute, I’m turning on the machine, and then a horrible screeching.
The only clue, a piece of paper he clutched in his hand. In it was a simple piece of verse.
I ran into the other me, His face was white as snow. And everywhere and when I ran, The Me was sure to go.
I’m afraid of what’s going to happen next.