life comes in a constant cycle
beneath the shadow of my step
it grows and takes me into its grasp
so vile yet so soft like a satin sheet

and beneath its fabric veil, it lay:
a mirror image of myself,
o, it speaks to me
this doppelgänger upon me
who moans and weeps mine name,
in its increasingly painful grasp

who is this culprit in mine home?
illuminated by the desert moonlight,
unlike nights of neon and pavement
in its post-death wander across time:
but for where does he go?