You linger just a moment,

but that's all it takes for it to catch your eye.

The image of yourself smiles back,

reassuring you that, yes,

you can borrow it for the day.

I can take the reins, it says.

Let me handle it.

You nod in agreement,

free, it seems, from your worry of imperfection.

You like the way your friend

attracts the eyes of those who pass

and parts the sea of those who used to harass you,

finding instead envious yet transfixed gazes

upon you.

It is pleasant.

But is it wrong? You think to yourself.

The following day,

The reflection stays hidden,

tucked away in some far off place.

Your face remains a mystery,

not because you are unable to discover it,

but because you are afraid.

Stay away, you tell it,

but its persistence grabs you again.

Its evil, tempting beauty wraps you in its arms.

Come with me, it begs, soft and sweet.

You can hear the whispered promises

of a better life on its tongue,

and shiver at the reality

that you were never in control.

In the end,

beauty always controlled you.