Do you know this one?
A dirge of loneliness,
An elegy of the empty.
Walking solo,
As if there were any alternative.
There is only solitude,
The sensation of being alone.
Perhaps it’s a part of the blood curse,
Festering in these veins.
No black magic exists,
To cure it.
Not all magic in the world,
Could defeat that hungering darkness.
A void so pitched,
Naught but thumbing claws,
Pulling at your heat from without.
This absolution,
It comes quick.
Penance-paying in centuries,
Deciding which sins are worth it.
Maybe I am evil.
Like their whispers.
Deciding Which Sins Are Worth it.
