Hall of mirrors

Walk through the hall of mirrors,
Where Different faces watch my every move,
Some seem familiar yet others just strangers,
Their eyes watching with barely concealed hunger,
The tormented and tormenting hanging side by side,
Innocent souls playing next to tortured demons,
All awaiting their brief moments of freedom,
While Avoiding looking into dead eyes of the forgotten, 
Yet still I walk through the hall of mirrors,
Will I be the one who comes out the other side….?

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critique and comments welcome.
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Mitch

Interesting but disturbing: almost makes you feel you might have a dissociative identity disorder when you emerge!

tortured demons, perhaps torturous
or do you mean that the souls that are innocent torture demons?
a puzzling poem

the demons imprison, it’s their part that tortures. I see no point in sympathizing with the demons, whether they are part of one’s psyche or not. the innocent part is the one that suffers. thanks for your reply

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