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I will never understand
the pack wolves
who howl their songs
of loneliness and despair,
only to turn their backs
on those who have desperately
tried to reach out.

I just want to be the lone wolf
content within my own isolation,

and surround myself with the cries
of those who truly know
what it is like to be loved,
and who would never abandon
the ones who care for them
for the sake of their own
perfect, broken melody.
I can feel myself going
                            down
                            down
                            down
                farther
                       and farther
                       into the rhythm
of my own
               tired
                     eyes
as they struggle to
stay
open.
I can hear myself
                 sinking
in the wordless voices
surrounding           me.
I am          content in
                  drowning myself
      until I can see

       nothing
                    but the darkness
                    of my isolation.
       Here
       is where
I will sleep,
and I will be
                       satisfied.
Is it too much to ask
for the roses to grow in the snow

instead of being plucked and gored
by the snowy owls

to line their ****** nests
in the warmth of spring?
the only thing i need
to call myself
saved

is the paradise
that i built
with my own hands.

(and a just a little bit
of selfishness
and candle wax.)

Salvation
is when i tell myself
that no one else

is in my way.
at least,
that’s how i see it.
If everything you touch turns to gold
and everything I touch turns to ash
then together
we will sit upon our thrones
of riches and ruin
and make the world bow at our feet.
As cracks form
beneath the surface,
infection oozes
flooding black
thick, through the
vulnerabilities,
bitter, burning,
twisted claws
reaching towards
the soft, unprotected
flesh.

Are you scared yet?

You are lying to yourself
as the bile
creeps up the stairs,
threatening this
once perfect
sanctuary, a
tragic portrayal of
almost survival,
protected only
by blindness to the
blackness.

Stop covering your eyes.

Soon it will come upon you,
but not before
the storm,
the fires,
and the stampedes
clear its path,
turning what
might have been
save havens
into hopeless
wastelands.

You did this to yourself.

And you can’t stop it.
The darkness
is coming,
and it will swallow
everything the
world has built,
down to its
very foundation.
It is only
a matter of
time.

The only thing you can do is accept your fate.
Nature’s cure
of flowering phrases
ground up into sickly pollen
won’t **** the overgrowth
growing through
the cracks.
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