Do I serve as a mirror to your true self?

Glowing and flourishing
in plain sight
all this you will fail to admire
too captivated by your own reflection,
which you so wrongfully envision
sutured to my face

Is it why you still treat this like a game?
as if you can still claim the title of successor
to the throne

Where is the gratitude that my body wasn’t turned to ashes by your hands?
that you aren’t cold
in a cell
hiding from the memory of what you have done?