The Tragedy

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Twisted, wretched limbs, stretching in their foul manner

epileptic disease of the soul has, beyond repair, infested my heart

a gaping hole now resides where the organ of blood once pumped furtively

emissions of red life now ceased to a dull dripping dew, mourning the leftover

salvation I once felt. In breath, I take in a calm, only to release with madness and tears.

Despair is a captivating foe that clings to my wake like a friendly enemy.

A tigress in her stance of prey laying in wait for a morsel of hope. Pathetic wings of flight

I cater to madness, in hopes to seek what I know I shall not find.

 

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