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The nature of my soul is dark and cold.
It is a husk, for its resources are drained.
Light pierces through a pinhole that used to be the sun-
Now a speck in a night sky.
The thoughts of heart are contemptuous.
Cynicism pulling out the buds of flowers,
Ripping them apart,
Before they have a chance to bloom.
None who are sane seek this.
To touch it would be unimaginable.
So surely, they that attempt
Are only seeking to succumb themselves.
When faced with such logic,
You must be insane,
Else you wish for darkness yourself
When you approach this place.
Light does not smother darkness,
Only chasing it into corners and under beds.
However darkness can smother light
Looming over it and choking it out.
Darkness hunts and kills
Until all the light has either fled or vanished,
And when the darkness gets its way
The pinhole sun disappears.
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