Inside the Glass

I look into the mirror,

Watching the person staring back

And it could not be clearer

That the figure cloaked in black

Is not who I am.

The figure has my appearance,

Looking at me with disgust

And sorrow because it is inherent

That the eyes do not trust

The figure staring back.

I keep looking and reach to the broken

Glass towards the sharp edges

Tinged deep with black omens,

Blood and deep evils of legend,

Looking at the figure staring back.

My hand feels the warm glass full of evil,

The figure looks right in my eyes,

Grabs my arm and pulls me from Eden

Into the hell that exists inside the glass.

 

Reach me via email: roman@impossiblybizarre.com

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