Leaving an impure stain upon our soul.
Tainted scars show through, sleeping deep within
Bringing us to wish for the end of times.
Drunk in pity and angst, we succumb now,
Finding the darkness was carried at times
Through our actions, rather than from our past.
Here, in the simple silence of quiet times
We yank the thread and pull it from our soul.
Briefly we unravel, finding the dark in
A small, ugly ball. Painful? Yes, sometimes.
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