In the hollow chambers of thought, where
everlasting questions resonate echoes
is the reflection of one's own
Not answers, but
perhaps infinitely refracting
At every dark edge, there lies another step to
and yet towards whom or opposite
Reflection is not
The abyss speaks, whispering
a question inside a question, the mirror cracks
Do mirrors know they reflect
When shadows rush to embrace light
Clarity is an illusion, and honesty
Define what surrounds you
but in widow-darkened streets, there