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Scorn

Hell is my home
The pain a soft lullaby
The flames a gentle blanket

It is heaven that I fear

Can such a perfect place even exist?

The soft light is too harsh
The melodic harps ring with
dissonance throughout my head

What is happiness?

The peace after such chaos
is horrifying

I am made to withstand pain,
not live without it.

My heart is hardened to a point
that such softness would crack it.

My strength has defined me.
My weaknesses: are imperceptible.

And yet I fear such a place as heaven…

So this makes me a demon:
the hate of a thing so revered;
And for such a child-like admission
I am scorned.



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