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bones;

I hide these bleached skeletons in the crypt of my soul, where all hell runs rampant and I cannot seem to find a decent source of light that will stay, that will not flee from these horrifying images of mangled terror that are all manifests of the blackest parts of me, the pieces that are darkened by soot and darkened by the demons that swim beneath my staring eyes.
And the heaps of bones grow and grow, until I find that I am living in a graveyard, the graveyard of my wasted, wasted self.





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