Just above the dresser
It often makes me feel so small
and sometimes even lesser
I don't see the point in it really
But I suppose that secretly I do
With it I see things too clearly
Without it I don't know what to do.
It's pathetic, I wish it dead.
That thing messes with my head!
Seven Years Bad Luck, they say, if smashed.
But as it hangs there, it makes me feel trashed.
I wake up just to look into it.
But what I see is never good enough.
Show it up? I hate it!
I hate the view. This thing kills, this thing screws!
I scream at it! I cry!
This is the reason.
This is why
The world's so preoccupied with looking it's best.
So, Good BYE, Mirror.
Good RIDDANCE Looking Glass.
I don't need you.
I'm perfect the way I am.
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