who dwells with us in the unseen

standing over as we sleep? 

in the mirror, someone not us

yet too familar;

staring deep, dissecting our sins

with icy precision.

we are its vision of a world less dark,

lights in the tunnel of soulless wandering.

its form passes vaguely before our mind

but there is no language for our own horror.

in stupor we move

as fate would have us.