Can I find rest for my soul,
To revolt against my supposed role?
In my darkness neverending,
Can i prevent my soul and hate from blending.
Burning tears course from my eyes,
Carve a path through poised disguise.
The sparkling jewels of emotional death,
Weeping from my soul with every breath.
Warm air escapes from my lungs.
The sound escaping is classified "tongues".
They don't hear my faint attempts at speaking.
So they grow fainter still, with frustration is peaking.
Many say your soul is a ruby rose,
Beautiful, magical... well known prose.
But really it's crushed by Fate's hands.
Pulp and blood mingle to spill on sands.
The sands of Time in the Wastelands of Fate.
Where winds range from mild to irate.
The sand that fills our Hourglasses.
The sands formed to curse the masses.
We are beholden to it's might.
I weep because it's in my sight.
I'm so weak and tired, grant relief!
Relief from my sorrow and an end to grief.
My lungs are empty and my throat is torn.
My soul is mangled and sheared and worn.
My heart was ripped, broken open.
Wasted my time in a place where freedom is not spoken.
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