Living In The Shadows
The shallowness of reading what already was. Capturing tears upon words, following trails of ink. Leaving no sign of new. Scratching pen across the happenings of past. Writing to close to fires, melting the light.
Shadow's billow upon pages, shadowing the now. Tear's clouding thought, madness ensues. What filth grimes the nails. Clawing for something to free, but too late. The walls are built the hell is lit and the heart is bleak.
Eyes widen to the darkness, seeing no words to create. Holding ill to the unreachable, the no longer present. Fulfilling in desire, but holding deep to misery. Bleeding are the lips, for speaking in the shadows there lies pity.
And screams will not be heard. For no ears but the designers will be present. Crying to the vacant lot of split white canvass. But fear holds to the aurora of what could be. Now no hope is to be held, little is to be done. For only the creator has the key.
Falling in disease to no absolute.
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