THE WHISPERING MIRROR

Hallway reeks of dust and dread
mirror framed in tarnished dead
glass exhales a fog of breath
something whispering under death
Doubt you bury every night
climbs back up to claim your sight
voice slips close and splits your ear
says the shit you fear to hear.

It does not show you. It listens first.
Tarnished frame, bad hallway, worse manners. 12×18 matte.