Imagine My Image – Twisted Prose

I saw a man who was not me,

his eyes were weary,

his smile was long,

a wisp of hair ran across his head,

his life seemed empty,

for he was dead,

but he called my name,

this decaying man,

he held a mirror that gave no reflection,

he held a mirror that was cracked,

the sea run red,

a splintered shard,

not glass but soul,

a necessary forgiveness,

a plot,

a goal…

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