Tormented Orpheus

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Pain used to inspire me to write;
words would flow easily substituting
my tears.

Sometimes I feel like Orpheus;
music as a glorious rescuer,
subsequently ejecting
paint on lifeless blank pale skin
with feelings and emotions
words could not possibly express.

Will I make it past eighteen?
Close yet unsure...
                           hop!
what if I ran off the ledge?

But now, the pain seems likes nothing;
nothing matters!
All I can think of is the dark red ink
bleeding on paper, pushing morosity aside;
leaving a vivid sense of relief in its wake.

Omnipresence wrapped in bandages warms me, yet
nothing matters;
disappearance of primitive tears,
nothing's left
to
spill.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

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┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚❀ ⋆。˚❃

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✾ ⋆ ┊. ˚.

˚✽ add this book to your library if you enjoyed this poem ;)

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