Tasnia Shahrin

The phone rings,

A dull tone—

“You are no longer yourself.”

I look up,
A broken mirror,
My distorted image taunts me.


“A phone rings”
I run, but my feet shake
so I bump on the mirror.
My image
I am in pieces—shards. 

Peeking through the joined image
Upon the floor,
Glass meets my fingers
Red with blood, I see stars.
Wishing I weren’t here.

As the moment passes
“A phone rings”
“I run”
But the glass now sticks to my feet.
The deep clean pain
Claims my mind,
I pass out
While sinking deeper.

Blurred sight, meets silence
I awaken to the phone ringing,
I pause.
My hand reaches forward
I move away, a shiver reverberates
to the sound, I walk away
the phone rings & rings & rings…


The writer is a part of the TDA Editorial Team.     

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

Leave a comment
scroll to top