Simulate My Sentiment; Depict My Despair

My fingers shake as they move to meet the misted glass.
I can't tell if this is worth taking the chance.
The rumors are overwhelming and they tease me to believe.
But I'm completely resolute on disclosing this truth.

I don't understand how you see me through here,
a hidden portal to the depths of my personality.
You're not afraid to scrutinize this glass for any traces of life.
And I admire that from someone who can't see the clear.

This figure stands before you, a pure representation
of who you thought you molded into the ideal being.
I'm sorry to admit that what you believed before was all wrong.
I shake the mirror to get you to feel how she feels inside.

Frightened at the prospect of falling into the mirror,
can we act as the old ritual which the dramatists performed?
Like two opposing poles of a magnet, attracted but held back
at the very thought of being connected by the moon's force.

Don't expect to believe we're anything more than pertinent,
not more than two contrasting heartbeats emulating the same action.
Don't take this to heart and believe I'm writing this for you.
This is for me, though you can probably see it, too.