autoneurophagism

mirrors whisper verses-

that paint the canvesses that are blank-

of invisible blades

that penetrate my spine.

moving lips

inaudible dialogues

the bored winds speak

of unseen portraits

unread letters

unheard songs

whispers beneath the moonlight

miles away from me

the mirror paints a wicked picture

but te picture is in canvass…

taken away from reality…

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~ by saikow on March 7, 2007.

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