I look into the shattered mirror and see countless metaphors staring back at me.
Treacherous are the faux dandelions
With their clandestine barbs
Biting and ripping at the appendages of my soul.

Infinite is the growling, burning famine
That results from my sluggish reply
As I gaze back and wonder which crime I committed will be the one
That breaks through the ice
And plunges my spirit into the empty, lifeless abyss.

But as the hoarfrost cracks
And my dwindling psyche teeters between sanity and eternal darkness,
An unseen buttress inclines to sustain me;
She seizes my arm and plucks me from the biting air,
Drawing me into her welcoming arms of conviction.

The temperate and kindhearted dandelion
Sheds its treacherous thorns;
Its golden blossoms reshape themselves
Into scarlet petals which cast themselves willingly beneath her feet.

And the shattered mirror mends its fractured veneer,
Revealing but one likeness;
A single persona with essence anew,
Encircled in her unrelenting yet adoring might.

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