7/2/2018 0 Comments Poetry By Charlotte UnderwoodThe Ghost Breathing in, breathing out, standing still, I stare at the body, the stranger in front. I analyse each detail, every single fine inch, Like staring into the eyes of a ghost, I flinch. Those wide eyes are tired, hooded and heavy, Lips so cracked and pale, the reaper would levy. Hair untamed, nails brittle, vulgar appearance. All so familiar, tightly shrouded with adherence. I place my hand forward, to touch the tainted skin, Blocked by a barrier, I feel my patience wearing thin. Could it be, I cannot believe, the ghost in front that I see, Is but a glaring reflection in a dusted mirror, this is me. Charlotte Underwood is a 22-year-old from Norfolk, UK. With a passion for helping others and writing, she has found love in words and expression of them.
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