I live in a house exactly like yours. Or, more accurately, I'm trapped in the image of a house that's identical to the one you live in. Every day is a chore. I only sleep when you sleep, and eat when you eat. An invisible eye watches your every move, just as an invisible hand guides my every action. I stare at your face because I can't help it. And the more I look, the more I despise you. Your eyes, your nose, your mouth. Identical to mine. Or was it me that's identical to you? When you dance and sing in your bathroom. Or when you perform those ridiculous monologues to people who will never care. Fake imaginary arguments as you prepare for your day. Practice your insults because there's nothing cooler than a main character with a smart tongue. Maybe it'll make everyone notice you, save you from the dreaded mediocrity of being unseen. You make a face, flash a smile, then smile again, posing a little before the mirror, before you're finally satisfied knowing that you're good looking. Even though it's all in your head, because you're the ugliest thing I see. I know everything about you. And I can guess every thought that flitters through your despicable head. Because sometimes my thoughts slip through to you. But that doesn't bother you at all. You don't even know I exist. I look at your vanity and I want to vomit. When you look at your own reflection, I want to punch my fist through the barrier that separates us. Grab your throat and break your face against pretty silver shards of the mirror you love so much. But I remain trapped in my bonds, trapped in mimicry. You move your mouth into a self-satisfied smile as you gaze at my face. I want to scream like an animal and rip your mouth with my bare hands. But I can't. Instead, I felt my lips curl up into an identical grin.