The Mirror

I never trust this mirror.

Over in the dark corner,

It always shows me horror.

When the moon hits the sky,

There is no sound, not even a cry.

All you can hear is a buzzing sound from a fly,

lurking in the dark corner of the basement.

The basement was made of cold wet pavement,

With an old window that is made with a casement.

Very little light shines through the widow,

Only enough to see the mirror.

Shadows appear when you look away,

They smell of rotting decay.

Don't be afraid they just want to play.

You can try to run and hide,

Just know that won't work,

Because The mirror that only shows me horror,

Will only move closer from the dark corner.

Always remember not to trust the mirror.