I still remember the blood on my knuckles after I punched the bathroom mirror.

I remember the spidery cracks that appeared across its surface, distorting the image but not penetrating deep enough to cause the mirror to shatter. Just like how the scars on my skin, the slits across my wrists make me hideous but are not enough to dismantle me.

I used to hate that mirror or more precisely what it showed but not anymore because now it reflects what I truly am, how I truly feel and not just how I look.

Broken, Useless

but still existing.