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they dare not traverse the dark corridors of their minds with cobwebs guarding the corners and ill will breeding behind shut doors; eyes looking through the barriers piled upon their skins, every protection withers and every truth spills like water from the oceans.
thorns pricking their hearts, their brains fallen petals intellect dissolved while their time ticks away, the ticking piercing them whole: a dull ache takes over — trapped inside their own reckless captivity but do they deprecate?
it's as tedious as their guilty conscience
the constant whispers vituperate, their own beings turned into sanguinary beasts with an interminable desire to hunt and hone, kill and kick, rip and rise (above the golden ashes)
their credence burns with sterility, it's an opprobrium brewing too hot to feel, too cold to touch, a middle ground that keeps
rising & falling
unsteady, clumsy gait, they care not to elucidate what roams around too nescient in their made up integrity, like paper houses they will tear themselves apart — living in a mortal brick home of decadence they live in negation of the truth
they only beguile themselves, it's a viscid sin.
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