Gone


This pain I have won't go away.
But the thing is, I want it to stay.
It helps to stop my brain from thinking things I don't want it to.
Just so I could stop thinking about you.

My motives are simple and so are yours.
My rain of thunder can't withhold yours.
I pray to heaven and above that that this pain will stop.
But also that when it rains, I feel merely a drop.

The rain, its beauty of a deep blood red, cascades down my person.
And down I am dead.
In this form I escape to a deep black void, that withholds peace.
In its deafening silence.

To withstand the beauty of such is to relish in a dark nature.
For my person need not what chaos flies around it.
Since it doesn't matter.

Because the purpose of my soul is to lie deep within this dark void.
But relinquish the peace that it holds.
Since it doesn't know what such feels like.

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