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Pylyp Apr 2019
The wind
It stirs and howls in fits of rage
Within a violent maelstrom
Icy rain
Begins descent
To rip apart to pound
Against a soul's repressed unhappiness
Unbound

The blackest oil
Abyssal night
These stars won't shine
Yet light exists
Inside
Unkempt
Deprived
Illusions
All for nothing
Stuck
Entwined

What's done is done
Though
Then the mind
Comes undone

A weightless burden
Bearing down
Your shoulders wail
Yet you protest their cries
Deny them rest

In time you learn
The storm
A test
Your will survived
The weight begins to lift
Off of your grieving chest
Your shadow
Former self
Looks back at you
Through you
And smiles
Pylyp Apr 2019
Love found quickly lost in a whirlwind
A picture
Captured quickly
Swept underneath another scripture
Once made of promises made to no one
Once filled with misery felt eternal
How can a light so true be taken
How was vision so mistaken
Soul torn apart at the seam
Now ruptured
Collapsing structure
Defective architecture
Made to last long enough to witness
The suffering
Grieving
Parts lost of a loved one
Stretched thin
Between the mind and abyss
No sanity expected any of this
Ignorance
Bliss
Simply existing to exist
Ashamed to admit
The resisting will to live
Pylyp Apr 2019
Drink from the cup of despair
Sweet relief
The respite
Though compared to a usual blanket of compliments
Passed at the table
The cloth
Soaked with lies
Stripped of everything once clear to creep up behind
Turned around once again
Just a tad
To the left or the right
Just to prove we avoided disaster despite many nights
Sleepless
Conscious of whirlpools drowning the pieces inside
Left to rot just beneath
The swirling surface
Forgotten
Abandoned
Left off to the side
For the demons to feed on the one thousandths time
Only one place to hide now
Concerning it might have been foolish to think
That tonight could be different
Yet what kind of idiots are we
But instruments left by our hollowed out shells
Seeking shelter from frightening parts of our lives
Left to deal
Regardless of our consent in this fight
With our selves
For a trophy more meaningless than our will
While our ego grabs hold
And manipulates sense of direction
To steer us to hell

— The End —