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pale fingers grace the mirror
as if reaching beyond the glass
but the vision will not fade,
the horrors will not pass

flecks of silver take flight
as the frightful specter is shattered--
crimson seeps from ghostly skin,
from hands so torn and battered

but no one will stop the bleeding,
no hands dare cover this wound
all that remains amidst the blood
is the wreckage of a soul consumed

as the chaos quiets and calms
in this god-forsaken place,
I peer into a shard of the mirror
to see an all too familiar face

but despite my screams and desperate cries
one awful thing cannot be denied--
this wretched nightmare I've exposed
is simply who I am inside.

By Kiandria

© 2012 Kiandria (All rights reserved)


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