Myself
I feel it at night,
The touch of a ghost
On my ignorant body,
The softeness of dew
In between my thighs,
Burning up my pale-death skin.
But it’s just an illusion,
An old dream that comes to shatter me,
Fragments of it driven in my heart.
If I dive my hand in this cavity,
I’ll touch this vivid, violent, bloody rose,
Removing the glass and turn it to my face,
Revealing Myself,
To Myself.
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