The light has vanished from its core, Leaving the sordid heart so sore,
None that can smell the stench,
That comes from its rotting,
The silent voices cry within,
But they fall upon deaf ears,
The sheer indignation of a putrid soul,
Sometimes wily are nature's ways,
She decides who goes who stays,
We are but mere pawns in the play,
Hail the hero that embraces all the lies, Shame to the soul that shatters its disguise.
© kronosaphrodite
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