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Poetry

06.09.15

8/21/2017

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What would become of me if I no longer breathed?
The son of Satan and Sin
Death would take me 
His newest pale bride
Breathing is the hardest when the pain batters your core, your mind, your soul
I’m tired 
I’m a shell of a once decent being
I’m already in hell 
Pandemonium my kingdom 
How can I resist this chance to escape?
No more yelling, no more stress, no more heartache
I desire nothing more from this plane
Alone, calm, the peaceful silence screams for thee
And temptation overcomes me

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    Poetry from the past and present

    Poetry is not my forte, and I find most poetry to be sad or reflective of a teenage depressive state, but I have shared my rather crappy and depressive poetry to show my progression from sad and weird teen angst to sad
    and reasonable adult angst.

          Explicit content                  warning

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