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This is based on a psychology test I sat recently. Just a poetic version I wrote about it. |
look down the winding path Blue sun rains down on parched grass still perfect in his eyes. The beach appears in the distance No-one came I am alone. And I would not want it different. The world crowds at the neon sickness cutting themselves over the crying Black hole that engulfs them over and over and over and Over. Their black eyes survive through pain, fraud. "fun" I smile as I watch this some in silent satisfaction (who's better) I lived through pain, as the Earth comes down on me... But Lived a good life. But mostly out of sorrow. I sit alone on that beach The fire I made dances in the sand sand grinds against sand To make crystal clear glass. it vomits over the sand and water. Connecting them to thee. No one came. They are dead. To me. To Themselves dancing in the Twlight of bliss and care that corrupted them long ago. I saw the sea turn to glass it came from the other side It came swimming Thrashing about through the black, burned water. Making it still. No more. No more of this courrpted city I said As I threw a hoodie on. I couldn't see the colour. All light has died where I am But I can see sun, peeking through Saying hello, as I run over the glass The darkness tries to stop me. I needed out... And I succeeded. As I saw himher I wondered who they were My brain lured on As answers flowed like a new spring through my head. I called out to himher Shouting in newtonuge Remarkably. heshe understands me A first We sit by the fire Watching the city choke We both had the same question Why |