I don’t know whose fault it is,
Is it my fault for allowing myself to become you,
Or is it your fault for shaping me into you?
Maybe there isn’t any blame to pass,
Maybe this was weaved into the dark strings of fate,
Maybe we were doomed to be reflections of one another.
Two broken mirrors, echos of bad luck,
I want to blame you.
I think I should blame myself.
Regardless, we are shattered,
Cutting ourselves and each other on our sharp edges,
Crimson tears mixing with rivers of guilt,
Is this resentment or rage?
For whom?
You? Myself?
For the reflection.