Mirror Mirror

I can't do it. 

I don't do it. 

I haven't seen my face in a year. 

"You don't look so good."  My wife says.

Thank you.  

She looks into the bathroom mirror applying lipstick.  Her hair falls down her shoulders like misting waterfalls.  She prods at the tufts of blonde silk.

"Are you sure you're going to be ok?"

"I'll be fine.  Have fun."

"Alright.  But call me if you need me."

The door latch clicks shut and then nothing.  The air has become visible in it's stillness as I lounge on the bed, eyes locked on the bathroom door.  I get up.

My feet slide across the floor with magnetic resistance.  My drenched palms almost slip off of the door knob.  My eyes raise up.  My heart plummets into my gut.

I see hell in the mirror.  Flame, misery, eternity.  And I can see myself burning in it's fires.