The memory never ends. The spinning never ends. The cold never ends. Why are you so cold?

It's said that art is therapeutic. But when I paint and sing and twirl and dance, it always comes out the same. I don't want it to end. I've never ached for something like this before. I can't wait for it to end.

Once I was done, there was nothing left for me to have. All that remained was hollow. No love remained for my reflection.

I walked past the mirror today, and saw my reflection stop. I turned to look. It wasn't me. It was a beast, hideous and twisted, with no eyes and a smile that was too wide. It must have been me. I was smiling, too.

When circle was small, young, and spinning, I walked along the edge of a river lake cliff. There was a reflection in the water of a terrible no-eyed beast.

I looked down at the water. There was no reflection. There was no me.

The three is one and the one are three, spinning into eternity.

You have forgotten the answer.