My Reflection
The girl is crying for help
I can see her trying to survive
When her eyes met mine,
I only saw dead eyes and darkness.
I tried hugging her,
Maybe to show that at last, someone cared
But instead, my skin touched a glass.
By that moment I came back to realiy,
Because that was my reflection.
I am that girl, looking at myself in a mirror.
YOU ARE READING
Always on the 13th Hour
PoetryThis is a collection of prose and poetry, and a bunch of thoughts that keeps me awake every night. This is all about what goes on every 13th hour... if that hour even exists.
