(Here's my 2nd essay. Free image used.)
You cannot control your mirrors. You cannot seal in them your devilish reflections. You cannot bound the darkness of the magic you hold and wield in your hands. You cannot be more than an object of the universe. The playthings that we are is mere contradicting art. Our heads are suppressed with thoughts we don't want. Our hearts celebrate the loneliness of kindness. Our paths cross with the most intricate touch of fate. The vast powerless skies, the falsely living stars, they are bigger things than the two of us.
There are wild scenes beyond those curtains, more eyes watch than you see and that platform you so love to stand on is anything but a stage; you only see what you want to see. Perceptions are what gets us lost. There are secrets much more than you intended to keep and there are lies much more than what tortures you even within your dreams every night; you only believe what you want to believe. Faith is what keeps us in painful peace. There is sweeter honey, more fragrant roses, more colors towards the edges of a prism, more fluid than water. There is so much more than what you allow yourself to perceive but you only feel what you want to feel. There is something more euphoric than desires, more romantic than love, more elusive than auburn hair, kinder than blue eyes; you only think what you want to think and there is nothing more pitiful than breathing through such insipid senses and a freezing, caged heart.
Your mirrors control you. They seal within you all of your devilish reflections. You cannot cast a spell upon the monsters you so keenly yet heedlessly create. You cannot be more than a plaything of the universe. All you ever wanted was shape your fears so that they can be more gentle, so they can be weak but you are never even strong enough to face them. You tug on your sleeve knowing it will hide whatever scratch you've gotten but even the blades of your shoulder wear off from the weight of your armor. You are reckless; careful of the unknown, mocking of what you suppose you understand. You are as vast yet as powerless as the skies, as falsely living as the stars, as unkind as loneliness and above all, intricate as you are easily pushed and pulled apart by this universe and its art.
