McIntosh Trail


Sydney Suggs, Staff Writer

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Look through the reflection
As if there were nothing.
Only small sparks of fire
To lead the way.
Seems I’ve been condemned
With the morbid obsession.
Pervade the nightmares
Within the glass.
The odious obsidian sheet
Haunts me.
The melancholy fogs the
But with my atramentous hands,
I am unable to wipe away the stain.
In this illusion I am frozen in
An ocular choke.
I spill down the pipe dream
As tunnel vision becomes me.
Into the simulacrum.

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