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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2282256
Hollow glasses awaiting to be filled...
(If noone) said it before
then why is there an echo?
A chamber of whores
selling-each-spark of their fading glow.
The choir is singing for a choir
filled with preachers.
The bodies of innocent
wrought in bone; are the bleachers.

And those who are trampled
do not complain.
(Too busy) -suffocated
and dealing with the neck strain.
Looking down at their shoes
as they pass you by.
Later call you a coward
For averting their death gaze.

But there's nothing left that burns inside.
Just hollowed out skulls and depraved eyes.
There's nothing left that still burns inside.
Just a remnant of something that they left behind.

But there's nothing left that burns inside.
Just hollowed out skulls and depraved eyes.
There's nothing left that still burns inside.
Just a remnant of something that they left behind.

Their humanity.
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