1 Poem by Melyssa G. Sprott

Not the Mirror

It’s not the mirror glass that’s cold,

it’s my reflection—I’ve been told.

 

So comes the fall, the frigid shiver

of my soul, such tiny slivers.

 

Little shards of time forgot—

instant reminders that all is lost.

 

It’s not the mirror glass that’s chilled—

it’s my frozen soul, empty and killed.

 

Tiny fragments of calm unretained,

all this loss—inside contained.

 

Such minute slivers—this fractured soul,

so comes the shiver—uncontrolled.

 

It’s not the mirrors shiny sheen,

it is myself—I have seen.


Bionote

Melyssa G. Sprott is dark and disturbing and has been expressing it with poetry and short horror stories since her birth. Her existence itself is an affront to all that is right and good in the world.

[Posted on 30 November 2012]