As I stare at myself in front of the mirror,
I imagine it unfilled
and dreamed that all life be like
this empty mirror in front of me;
devoid of my existence.

The intensity of nothingness
burrowing within the contours of my being
cannot seem to get through
this chaotic head of mine
as the cracks of the broken glass
distorted the imagery.

The shattered reflection
bounced back from whence it came
until all colors
got sucked into the debris.

The source became gray
and skies black from non being.
Infinite void.
It is what my blood screams.
It is what this restless soul needs.


circle-cropped (15)Kayla Seacor is a 22 year old bureaucratic slave who writes poetry to keep herself sane.

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