mirror

Always look in the dream-mirror, against your better judgement. You never know what you might see because dream-mirrors reflect perception. Flick the bathroom light and shield your eyes from the blinding flash then look and flinch. The reflection: painfully hyperreal. Every pore, every follicle rendered in nauseous high definition. Your face smiles, and your dream-lips part to reveal teeth cracked and yellow like a rusty saw blade. You reflexively reach up, but at the slightest touch, your front incisor jumps right out of your dream-mouth onto the edge of the sink, balances stubbornly on its roots then topples, disappearing into the black drain of your unconscious. You tighten your jaw and seal your lips, but every movement loosens another tooth and rolls it onto your tongue. You open and spit and half a dozen jagged pearls clink onto the porcelain. What frightening relief to let go of your self-image.