Mirroring Evil

Seeing the evil in you is simple as watching the mirror. It appears the same but it can also be inverted.

It flips, the light inside you, the darkness is always there. It’s just that we mostly see the light and sometimes the darkness is more powerful, that our vision refuses to consider, mostly.

In experiments at work, I went and went down paths, in search of stories and why people behave the way they do. Why men are hyper sexualising people and sex-averse at the same time and how that leads to the grand ideas of far-right.

Some, as a personal gotcha bruh high. Some, for the fact that we are so powerless, to wield the cloak of anonymity and going ahead.

There are signs asking you to slow and run back, towards the light. But the venom, the kick and that urge to just go free is addictive. You are intoxicated to almost believe what they do is right after all.

Hierarchy. One tiny penis will decide apparently.

Sometimes, I do feel like the person inside the mirror has a point. Why should I care about you? Why should I not do the evil things that I have the power to do so! Let everything be a purge.

Everyday, I stare. At the absolute binary ways of living. The reflection shows the small thread off semblance to humanity and morality.

It’s very easy to push that strand away and indulge. I think people do evil things only because that’s the only way one feels powerful.

You decide how people live and see and ruin their lives. When we see at the mirror, the refraction could either be on the ideals and ideas that you have grown up with or a diffusion of breaking away to take care of only self.

What purpose does revenge serve, I have wondered. I don’t revenge to be a dish served cold. I want it to be so hot that you will remember it everytime you face warmth. That scares me more.

But thankfully the flip of the mirror is lost in translation. And I land at the question, what have I given up to be here, at this state?

Late at night, just before sleep, my mind sometimes fills with whiny-l record of conversations.

The voices young and old, male and female and non binary, all play through. All the words I could have said back, all the hurt I went through due to their actions. All my gestures that led to it as well pop in but I easily put it on others. It’s easy to wallow in self pity. The jump from that to disrobing the prying ability on others is just a stumble away.

But the reversals from the mirror, when we attempt to will them into existence, are provisional to the surrender of our soul.

I am not there yet to witness to the ever-increasing alienation from one’s origins and the stories that made me.

So I wipe the mirror, clean the spots, ensure I haven’t missed any before it wipes me away from existence and standing.