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Dec 2019
Lurking in the shadows,
Forsaken vows, broken promises,
The things we hold,
Cold, empty carcasses,
Given life by ourselves,
Draining us of our humanity.

We are but wandering dependant bodies,
Dependant on ourselves,
Surrounded by entities,
Valued more than anything else.

A system destined for desolation,
One that tricks us out of isolation,
Look past what surrounds you,
Try and see something else,
You’ll find nothing matters,
You are created to be,
Placed upon a crimson soil,
Burning away at your feet.

No purpose, no identity,
nothing to hold on too indeed,
Drowning in the thick of it,
Consumed by what we should be,
Valuing things that should not be,
Cutting into our humanity,
Like a butchers knife into meat,
Bit by bit we bleed,
Till there is nothing left,
And all there is to see,
Is what could have been.
Conor Bristol
Written by
Conor Bristol  20/M/England Nottingham
(20/M/England Nottingham)   
163
 
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