Moth Harris Poems
Comments about Moth Harris
#100 - Faction
It's the ghost in the mirror, the shadow in the corner of the room.
The cascading thoughts that drift through my mind so steadily.
It breaks and scrapes, takes away, again, again, another day.
It's where you are, what you've become, darkness.
It's a memory that rests in me, the forgotten, the fools.
Old weapons, just tools. A broken butter knife, made of plastic.
The sense of things that do not condence,
A mirror with no reflection, the blindness of night.
Light or dark has no preception of wrong or right.
Just by the looks of things,
We are only dreaming,
With screaming in our ears.
A foggy reflection,
On all of our mirrors,
Tears cascade down her cheeks.
Hasn't felt good in weeks
and now storm clouds are due.