Reflections of a dying light

I look upon the mirror frail, which in my hand I hold. I look upon the person who for you his soul he’s sold. A shadow of his former self, staring back at me. A ghostly image now reflects the man I’ve come to be. To toy with my affection, does it bring you pleasure? Am I just an object that you care to use at leisure? Trapped as if within the mirror, I seek to find escape. Salvation will come when you decide that the mirror it should break.