Nirvana, Say Hello to Lewis.

"Not today," he told himself, with the
       Strength of a thousand men.
Placed his wet feet on the floor,
       as he dodged his Enemy again.
And still It peered at him, enticing him to
       look, to weep that he was too thin,
or to run from the glistening Image of
       his Imperfection, his societal skin.
He stood, grasping the sink, frozen.
       Frozen.
Although his mother would be upset:
       He dripped off the bath mat.
In this state of Mind, he couldn't care.
       Winning that Fight; he was winning that--
But No! What would They say?
        What would They think,
If he didn't scour for an hour,
        mentally Mutilating that Image above the sink?

She was thinking the very same.
        Every day. Driving herself crazy beneath that
pouring rain.
And she slowly went Insane.
If she could just touch that image, taste the word.
        "Perfect." It reverberated in her Brain.
Her body Poisoned with her Distain,
couldn't stand--couldn't sit--
to look at that Mirror.

Both saw the Image clear. Both of them,
        Both near tears
saw the other's face. Knew the other's case.
In that moment,--hallucination, perchance--
        Both souls began to dance.
Her thoughts melted away at last,
as his Blood dripped--
                                for Breaking the Glass.