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The Mirror Door

Maud The Moth

Inside the mirror, there is a door
It’s round and black, and it grows and grows
Clawing at the frame, the ground feels soft
Uninhabited bodies in the circular void

Houses filled with holes to fall through
Houses filled with homeless memories

I undress my skin, from its shellac forceful kiss
I can move amongst the crowds
Like the wind between the forest canopy

Say that I’m real
I undress my skin
Say that I’m real
I undress my skin

I’m just an echo rustling the foliage