Nameless: each one hopeless. Coldly whispering: “To tall, to short. To fat, to skinny. To pale, to flushed.” So steady yet so rushed. Each the same, but still so different. Alone, yet you know judging eyes are watching, pressuring. Disappointed in themselves, disgusting. Rethinking their status, rethinking themselves. Soul wrenching. They try to escape, but they can’t. Surrounded. Trapped. In a house of mirrors.