I stand here before the looking glass still,
Feet upon the window sill.
Fingers so cold run down my spine,
Drawing through veil from places divine.
Alone I’m not, looking at the streets below,
My room behind filled with an unearthly glow.
Voices echo and fill me head,
As I push against glass with riding dread.
Clasps unlock and wood frame splinters,
A flood of sound draw in with winds of winter.
I cry, I scream as the dead wrap me round,
My body separates from soul as I hit the ground.
Now I stand here, upon the window sill bare,
Waiting to chill all with my unending stare.