Whose Reflection

I look at you in the
mirror, and I think,

Who is the reflection, and
who is the reality?

When I walk away from the
mirror, I do not see where you go.

Is it the same for you?
Are we both, perhaps, trapped in our respective

Worlds, prisoners of our
own delusions? The dreams that haunt me at night,

Are they all mine? Or
maybe, fleeing phantoms, somehow, able to cross the barrier.

Off times, they are dark,
and so brutal, I am startled at the depth of cruelty they reveal.

Are these dark children
mine? Or, progeny of your world and your mind, the inverse of mine?

In the shadows, something
cold and sinister, slithers silently, like some ancient serpent,

Turning, twisting,
flattening to fit into places that none should fit at all.

Over a shattered sill,
flowing like smoke, it senses, something.

Moving forward, ever
forward, in the hunt, it knows,

Within, lies it’s need,
it’s desire to feed.

Pale thighs, open,
waiting, wanting,

The flesh and the seed.