Himitsu by Fox
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Filled of old empty rage,
Sullen and raw,
Glancing at the hopeless.
Is that life,
Seeing those condemned?
A view of purgatory
From the garden
Confused for an angel
Lonely as the damned
Guardian for those already lost
Hope, a lost plaything
Affection, a demented dream
The trikster who has forgotten the trick,
or become part of it,
lost to the web.
Cold
Scarred
Marked
Alone
Should one dream, wait, even for death?
Perhaps
Centuries beat their tattoo,
But silence is the balm of all wounds
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