Uncanny Me.

In twilight’s grip, where shadows creep, I walk the line ‘tween wake and sleep. A smile stitched tight, a gaze too deep, A voice that echoes—soft, yet steep. The moonlight shivers on my skin, A ghostly hymn, a whispered sin. I dance with echoes, dark, unseen, A phantom wrapped in something keen. Cold fingers trace the void I weave, A specter born of those who grieve. I wear the dusk, the void, the sea— A mirror cracked—Uncanny Me.