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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Prior-Card-6627 on 2024-04-08 14:27:36.
It was a pretty simple little poem I received as a text 3 days ago from a number I didn’t have saved. I’ve made a few moves and had some phone changes over the past 10 years, even though I’ve never gotten rid of the number. So getting a call or text from an unsaved number with an area code matching mine is no real surprise, it usually ends up being an old friend, wrong number, debt collector etc…
I didn’t recognize the number, and no matter how many times I try to text back they refuse to respond, I’ve had to have sent no less than 100 messages and 50 phone calls (all have gone straight to voicemail so i assume I’m blocked) all that was sent was this poem.
In the mirror’s glare,
My reflection twists and sneers,
Cursed skin, whispers fear.
At first I chalked it up as a prank, maybe some sort of internet trend for middle schoolers. Someone sends a scary haiku to a random number to get a funny response. That was, until later that night while getting ready for bed.
I found myself staring into the mirror, noticing almost every small flaw in my skin. Noticing how much looser it seemed, and I’m not a very self conscious person. I stared at my face and all along my body in the mirror for what felt like maybe 20-30 minutes. Until my alarm started blaring and took me out of my trance. I’ve been staring at the mirror for a little over 10 hours.
Calling off work seemed like my best bet at that point, I felt drained and thought I might be sick in the head or something. Completely losing track of 10 hours while staring in the mirror.
My bed is undoubtedly the cleanest area in my home. I can’t sleep in a dirty bed, so I knew something was wrong even after staying up all night. I found myself twisting and turning. Feeling like I had a layer of gunk on my whole body. I could feel a strange shifting all around with every adjustment and repositioning.
All I could think about were those words.
In the mirror’s glare,
My reflection twists and sneers,
Cursed skin, whispers fear.
It wasn’t even an hour after my poor attempt at sleep. I thought maybe some TV and an Advil could help my discomfort. Sadly, that was not the case. The moment I sat on my couch I felt it. The worst, most disgusting feeling that I still cannot put into words. Almost like bubbles sprouting from under my loose skin where I’d sat down, traveling all the way up my body, until I was filled.
It all felt unnerving, but the worst was when the bubbles began to pop, almost as if they were filled with lime juice, or alcohol. The burn I felt shocked me. It was excruciating. I knew my body was in pain. Too much to move, but all I could think about was my skin. It didn’t look right, the bubbles are proving the point I made while staring in the mirror. This skin is all wrong. I needed to get out of it.
Reaching for anything to help me get out of this skin was a hassle. The moment I made contact with anything in my vicinity the bubbles would come back, sprouting from the part of my body that made contact with the objects. I knew they hurt, but the only reason I was frustrated with them is because it meant my body would be too shocked to move. And if I was going to get rid of this skin, I needed to move.
After my struggle with controlling my body I decided my nails and teeth would have to work.
I’ve been writing this with the little bit of clarity i have left, my left forearm is almost completely raw, nothing but flesh and tendons are showing. Both legs where much harder to remove the skin, they look shredded with chunks of my skin hanging on, revealing veins and muscle.
This was all due to that awful poem.
In the mirror’s glare,
My reflection twists and sneers,
Cursed skin, whispers fear.
This is my last shot at hope, along with the poem was a note. I cant use my phone to quote the note exactly. Due to my fingers being worn down and unable to work the touch screen, so i will paraphrase a bit. “Reading this poem will open your eyes, 3 times. Read the poem 3 times and look into a mirror, then the truth will begin to show itself. Spread the word to all that will listen, then you will find your solace.” it was written a bit more concise and mystic than this but I’m in no state to think of anything creative.
I’m sorry, I wrote the poem 3 times in this story in hopes you would read it, in hopes that this feeling would go away, maybe it could be passed on. My only advice to you now is avoid any mirrors, and send this poem out any way possible.
Maybe you will be more lucky than I, or maybe you will start to understand why the skin you have is a trap, a trap you can escape with just a look at your reflection.