by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
When I look at my soul in the mirror my soul never answers my questions. Its imaginary hands do not wave back. I try to look into my soul, but my soul dissolves before my eyes. However, my soul looks through me and I feel naked inside. My soul’s deadly stare gives me the creeps. I wonder if it is even my soul. I feel an immense emptiness. I go nameless and I run out of breath. I go without memory and everything falls away from me. When I look at my soul in the mirror I feel like it is the beginning of the end of my life.
When I look at my soul in the mirror my soul never answers my questions. Its imaginary hands do not wave back. I try to look into my soul, but my soul dissolves before my eyes. However, my soul looks through me and I feel naked inside. My soul’s deadly stare gives me the creeps. I wonder if it is even my soul. I feel an immense emptiness. I go nameless and I run out of breath. I go without memory and everything falls away from me. When I look at my soul in the mirror I feel like it is the beginning of the end of my life.
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