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Sora Nov 12
You compel yourself to rise at the break of dawn,
yearning for a day
wrought with promise,
aspiring to evolve
into a finer version of yourself.
After a few gentle reassurances,
you become acutely aware of an amiable
yet slightly alien sensation—Happiness.
You relish this ephemeral joy,
cognizant of its fleeting nature.
However,
the instant you pass through
those well-trodden portals,
you seamlessly metamorphose into that polished,
ostentatious facade
that society demands.
You squander invaluable energy upon others,
along with your dwindling patience.
At day’s end, you find yourself utterly spent,
clutching the scant remnants of vitality
you valiantly preserved.
As you extinguish the lights,
you descend into a vast abyss of darkness,
relishing fleeting tranquility,
only to swiftly confront the bitter truth
of your exhaustion—
exhausted
from being fractured,
deceived,
belittled,
and loathed;
wearied of existence itself.
Gradually,
you retreat into the recesses of your mind
where you have lingered endlessly,
surveying the dimly lit room
as each object
dissolves into nothing more than shadows.
Then, silence envelops the world,
Poised
for your next act.
The solitary sound that emerges
is not of this earthly realm;
it is a voice—
one that might be deemed
Otherworldly,
insidious,
ghostly,
and extraordinarily compelling,
twisting tender words of comfort
into nefarious fabrications
aimed at your undoing,
and yet you embrace them,
soon feeling the anguish
of fresh wounds
as the warm crimson rivulets trace your skin.
Your body, finally ceasing its tremors from indignation,
becomes inundated with remorse.
You adorn yourself in fabric to conceal your suffering,
and with every sharp sting that the cloth inflicts,
you reproach yourself for your capitulation.
Your eyes brim with tears
that your weakened spirit cannot shed,
as you ensconce yourself within your sheets,
ensnared in the turmoil
of overthought and
relentless regret.
You surrender to slumber,
devoid of dreams or visions,
merely enveloped in whispering darkness—
another fleeting experience you cherish,
knowing you shall awaken anew,
resurrected with courage,
fully aware that this cycle
shall perpetuate with
relentless,
cold efficiency,
ad infinitum.
Sora Nov 12
Quiet
Chaos


Silent
Death


Obsessive
Greed


Abundant
Arrogance


Perched

Upon a bridge


Overlooking

The waters
of Virtue

Glimpsing

the reflections
Of our sullied souls


We dared
to embrace

The Demon
That told us to Jump
Now

we look Up at it,

Expectantly
As our heads

Sink beneath the surface
Forever blind

Silent
Consumed
Benighted

— The End —