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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2212525
Rated: E · Poetry · Relationship · #2212525
looking inward

The tears haven’t dried on my pillow overnight.
I must have cried all night in my sleep.

The memories come back in a full-frontal attack.
The burnt mountains are too high and too steep.

I slide down a dark Gotham with no sides and no bottom.
Three screams escaped my soul, though I fought them.

The screams were of hope, despair and piercing deception.
They were old and familiar and not all a reflection.

My mirror is broken, untrue, tends to blur the smitten.
It stretches the truth and speaks lies, no matter what’s written.

I brood in my room and the light doesn’t reflect me.
A vampire with no gloom is a true spiritual rejection.

I would create a mother, with someone and somebody.
I just can’t imagine another, if not another just like me.

The tears haven’t dried on my pillow overnight.

Because the tears on my pillow aren’t mine,
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2212525