Stygian. Stagnant. Solitary.

Stygian. Stagnant. Solitary.

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Darkness. Stillness. Loneliness. Three hells, amassed within the contents of a human skull to torture the mind. Artistically speaking, they are the kerosene that keeps the fire of poetry alive. Consciously, they're traumatically destructive.
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Thoughts locked in my mind, like a prison as I try and survive. Though mentally we are a lot alike just two lost souls, battling for peace in a world of insanity. Will we survive, our own personal Hell? (All poems written by me, Jacey. 100% Original)

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