I pass her daily, she's just like me, but not me. She is dark, a ghostly shell, some alter ego deliberately mimicking me; Or is this my own dark soul, the darkened wretched me? There she goes again. but this time she notices me in the passing. Will she ponder the same questions as I?
All poetry under the names Lori Carlson or Iona Nerissa are the sole property of Lori Carlson. Please seek permission before using any of my writings. ~Lori Carlson~