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 Often nowadays, I talk to me,

About the darkest, saddest things there be.

I told myself, I told you so.

Years of troubles, a heavy heart of woe,

I barely remembered the good few,

The almost could call it, happy times I knew.



Immersed in money of a terrible heart,

Thinking that was all it takes to be  apart.

But the burden it brought will forever be,

The scars, the dents behind a broken me.

Not one grand moment? Yet ignore the frustrations,

Soothed by the gallivanting of high life commotions.



Not one pleasant, special rhapsody of sentiments,

To ease my regrets at the passing of moments.

Hell is a terrible monster, an incomparable one,

He stops you dead in your tracks,

And rush you to levels of pulsating attacks.

When he shouts even the deaf hears,

Leaving you trembling and wet with fear.



Hell is nearer than a heartbeat away,

For he owns a spot in you to stay.

If you dare let him, by the weakness you show.

Now looking back, but what for though?

As all now’s left is just blankness and a heart of woe.


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