My surroundings are dirty,
I am locked up in the dark,
I hear a whisper,
But i cannot see who it is coming from,
My hands are shaking and i smell the stench of blood,
I slowly walk, 
Cautiously,
As if coming to the edge of a cliff,
I begin to stagger,
My weary arms search for something to hold me up,
I grab something with more bone than flesh,
I come to realize,
I am holding myself,
Another whisper seeps out,
It is coming from the version of myself that I've seen in the mirror,
The version of me that i hate,
He is staring at me,
Laughing,
Enjoying the sickness that he see's,
That has consumed me,
He takes my hands and places them on the floor,
There is a pool of blood that my searching fingers find,
Then I find that my arms are bleeding,
It's coming from me?
How could this be?
I'm dying while watching my mirror version smiling,
But in my last moment I smile back,
He is confused,
Little does he know,
If i die,
He dies too.