Soul's Husk

Glimpses of the remnants… Like brief reflections in a window: the haunting image a revelation; a sudden chill in your reality Those eyes staring back are not your own. Cold truth veiled beyond stained glass eyes: You have journeyed over a wasteland, all purpose now but a mirage. By instinct you steadily crawled forth until oblivion inevitably consumed you. You are but the shadow that escaped. You are only the phantom by whom my hands are stained red. Your whispers exist only in my dreams. You are not real… You. Are. Not. Real… Can I find footprints long erased by the scorch of time? Can the soft, deceptive moonlight return what was stolen from my soul’s husk?