Ever heard of spirits living
at the edge of minds?
You see them in onyx mirrors,
only sleepless remnants of the night.
Hear million voices singing,
with errors and streaks of chilling breaths.
They walk the tracks of lonely roads,
through misty woods.
Guide her wings of dripping ink,
a nightly butterfly.
Their faults, his fear, our flaws
locked in my distorted eyes
as faded colours of a better past.
We’re blinded by aurora,
yet another day at last.