This morning I awoke to

A fallen flower bulb on a shelf

The last one

A photograph on the bedroom floor

Face down

A collapsed mug laying on its side

Beneath a poorly washed salad bowl

I take the bulb, the photo, the mug and the dirty bowl

And place them for a short while

On the kitchen counter

I look at them through bleary eyes

As I mechanically sip my bitter coffee

Trying to decide

Whether I am going mad

Or whether the things around me

Have become mirrors

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