The shadow of a shadow,
leans against my feet.
A symphony of darkness,
plays its note within my head.
The arcane words
and the abstract art,
create their own canvas;
my figure is drawn,
yet, no name for the artist.
Wearing the jacket around my slender sleek shoulders,
a mask upon the painted smooth face,
remade vintage, washed cloth
is wrapped around my knees.
Scars are hidden from the skin
as the soul glimmers and fades
like a winter sunset.
The reflection of a reflection,
mirrors the distorted nostalgia.
Twisted but not backwards,
so the language is unclear.
Words are my secrets.
Thus, the vain message;
a request turns to requiem,
muting the silence.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 9