Weariness wraps me in my reflection.

My reflection signs off, but I am still there.

Still there, performing the same tasks.

The same tasks of cleaning and cooking, but not alone.

Not alone, always before an audience of one.

Of one body, but always two minds.

Two minds, one that watches, one that comments endlessly.

Comments endlessly, the ever-present critic chatters.

Critic chatters, reflected in pieces of shattered glass.

Shattered glass, a myriad of tiny mirrors.

Tiny mirrors, all showing parts of my face.

My face, one eyebrow, a nostril, half an eye.

An eye regarding my reflection.

My reflection signs off, but I am still there.