Through a looking glass...

The eyelashes were perfectly dry
The reason to cry,had been forgotten...



The sleep was just a habit,today
The singular dream that remained,had lost an excuse...



The writings were all of a gibberish
The poetry within,had left behind,the memoir...



The life was,but,a profession
The mortal inside,had slept to,a sunset...





He had looked back at him...


Through a looking glass.....