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Mirror mirror

The Art of Touch is shattered between stained sheets of satin grown cold.
 
                         Nameless strangers and memories sway too fast
 
I allow empty palms to caress
 
                          Each night I promise “He will be my last”
 
And every evening I let them undress
 
Losing count in trembling backseat flings
 
Preying eyes devour innocent consent
 
Rolling off my cheating tongue
Praying lies taste sour.
 
Mirror mirror, who’s grin do I see?
With blood stained teeth,
Eyes reflecting defeat,
 
All to similar to mine.
 
Mirror Mirror, what have a let myself become? 

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