Maybe.

Maybe they’re all
interchangeable
as they live in me.
They morph one into the other
strike the same chords
of longing
and regret.
Their voices share a timbre
and a theme
of possibility
and deprivation
wrapped in dark heat,
a lure.

They lead me to the forest
they harbor all my words
surround me with their mirrors
taunt me with their cards.

If I break the glass
surely I will find
hard truth
that I have been left
standing in an empty room.

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