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Mirror's Grab
It's too dark for her.
She daubs mascara on glass.
The mirror has no arms...
Night's just in the morning.
There existing, the eyes ran
Upon former years, tears
The mood stops, reflecting
Make faces, she's mine
Broken embers from limbs
Vice and crash,
Both's empty blood —
She's twisting surfacing
Barbwire that
Blocks out
Shards
Copyright ©
Paige Hind
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