it seems that everyday is blank
a canvas to be filled with colors
textures tastes smells...
Then the black consumes it all.
And have I awoken from a dream
Or was this what it's always been?
Is life not a slow death
With spouts of color inbetween?
I lay my weary body to rest.
and close my weary eyes.
and force myself to suppress,
the tears flowing from my vise.
Fear overcomes my feeble mortal shell.
And the darkness closes in
And i taste the rotten smell
the darkness grips me
chokes me in the night
And although i struggle
i die more with each fight.













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while the wicked stand confounded, call me with thy saints surrounded
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