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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Dark · #2217364
It's a short piece about the freedom of choice.
Hardened smoke colored feathers,
covering a whole.
A little birdlike creature,
hidden beneath it all.

Darkened ashen walls with
plumage scattered hectically around,
vanes charred by fire unseen,
and a smell of torched quintessence.

It trembles, every now and then,
squawking, as tiny balls of light
encircle the feeble host of it all.
Lurking, loathsome, leeching.

Each shedding truth about,
reminds of life, pouring salt
on tiny open cuts across
it's breathing carcass.

Thudding footsteps fill the cavern,
and a stench of the wild flower.
"Come," they whispers and then
as if all retract away.

A single light goes beneath the feathers,
a tiny scream fades from the center,
as it burns away at flesh and connection.

I bleed, or I remain in tenebrosity.
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