Look in the mirror

When I read what you write to her

I can feel remnants

of this afternoon’s lunch

trying to make its way out

the same way it came

Don’t kid yourself though

I’m not green with envy

This nausea rises

from the pit of my stomach

where I myself swallowed

your honey-laden arsenic years ago.

The kind of twisting one might feel whilst watching a torturer tap wooden shivs under his victim’s finger nails

Only I’m watching from behind a one-way mirror that I can’t break.

When she finally does look for your reflection

She won’t see one

because vampires don’t have reflections