Hall of mirrors

Like a snowman in the Sahara, or
Yesterday in tomorra, or
A Christian in Valhalla,

Out of place is my space.

In search of solace and a solar bun,
Mining in vain for a seam of fun,
Hunting for spikes for a race that’s run,

A shut-up shop is my lot.

In the hall of mirrors where I sleep,
Fractured reflections are all it keeps,
Glass splinters in skin make me weep,

I just cannot see, how to be.

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