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touch the glass
My reflection,
Drenched in red,
Is an illusion,
In my head?
Could this be real
Or just a trick,
Blood makes the floors,
Really slick,
So if I trip,
And hit the glass,
The stain will smear,
As my fingers pass,
A bloody mess,
Is what this is,
But no one can hear me,
Ask what gives?
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