Reflections in Window Glass

Pall and frost,
wounds from the sun’s claws.
All is lost
to the holocaust.

She calls on her ghosts
and the moon when her love goes.
If you’re feeling alone,
call a memory or an echo.

You look into your own eyes
and dare her to save your life.
Scratch ’til you bleed.
It’s what you need.

Is this a hidden path
or a final chance?
What have you tore down
out of boredom?

The pale glow of her smile
illuminates graves for miles.
All is lost
to the holocaust.

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