#100 - Faction

Poem By Moth Harris

It's the ghost in the mirror, the shadow in the corner of the room.
The cascading thoughts that drift through my mind so steadily.
It breaks and scrapes, takes away, again, again, another day.
It's where you are, what you've become, darkness.
It's a memory that rests in me, the forgotten, the fools.
Old weapons, just tools. A broken butter knife, made of plastic.
The sense of things that do not condence,
A mirror with no reflection, the blindness of night.
Light or dark has no preception of wrong or right.

Comments about #100 - Faction

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

2,6 out of 5
20 total ratings

Other poems of HARRIS

Ash Misguided

Wrapped in black
Old, dirty, dusty, damaged
Held inside is something beautiful
A cold vacant stare

This Sickness That's In Me

When I'm washed up with those feelings of loneliness
and when there is only this and we can't resist
the bliss of when we kiss but it only exists
when our eyes are trapped in the mist.


The ground shakes with rage
As the world's growing with age
Oh mother natures seen what we've done
Well she was gone we've had our fun

A Ghost In The Window

I've stared out this dirty smudged window many times before
I've seen many nicely dressed people but none go through this door
but I guess that's how life is when you're poor
You don't got money but atleast you don't know what it's for

Something Better

If you ever feel doubt just remember that we all get scared
I should've dared to show you something better than me
Just know that I'm trying to be all that you need
Because I want you so badly to believe in me