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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1744574-Echo
by Kyam
Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1744574
The line of madness we walk is a serpentine filament, frail and branching.
Life drains from me as I quietly descend into the shaddows that lye before me in swirls of gray light, what is it here that attracts me so much other than the near thrill of getting here. This is hell or is it life, I don't know. I float here as if this is the last place my soul will venture out into; I'm trapped here for all eternity my soul wrought in agony, burning in a thousand suns.

To the depths we descend, into theis ever-present darkness that surrounds our mortal being. Those sounds, that horror of a sound chilling me to the bones; won't it ever end? I sit motionless staring into nothingness as if in a trance; surrounded by clouds floating gently by, as I burn. I hear it closer now then before sneaking around the corner staring with its curious eyes at my frail figure lounging at the edge of my mind.
© Copyright 2011 Kyam (huzeifafrosh at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1744574-Echo