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The Conflicting Desire of a Soul Lost in Itself


Sometimes,

the rush of

a strange

gentle desire

overcomes

the stubborn

company

of cynicism

left by lovers

haunting

wayward

thoughts;


Sometimes,

I can hear my

heart cry out

the silent call;


"Halt the

destruction

of another life

bound by

the gilded

indifference

of your

restless

flesh,

bound by

plastic

passion-


In your eyes,

he will see

his sins will be

vanquished."



Yet I am a child;

treading destruction,

pleading with hope

to be swept towards

the shores

of an embrace

blessed in

sincerity-


a savior to

wash the

wounds of a

hypothetical

derelict.


Were I

a martyr,

the nobility

of sacrifice

would be

wasted upon

the static nature

of that other

misfit bound

by their own

prophecy;


Their fate

illuminated

by flickering

neon lights

dulled as

they seep

softly through

the stained glass

of broken bottles.

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