How do I know I’m here
When my shadow disappears
When my voice gives out
And won’t make a sound
How do I know dreams
Aren’t as tangible as reality
When both fade to make
Way for the other
And how do I know
My reflection isn’t pondering
Stomping, distorting, shattering
Me into scattered pieces.
YOU ARE READING
The Secret Life of Thought
PoetrySometimes we don't say a word because our mind is too full of them. These pages hold just a few of those.
