The Child

Forgive me,

For I have been

Born a sin,

A paradox of life and hate,

A believer of fate,

A tragedy that lies awake

And charges forward without hesitate.

A Whisper in the wind,

That screams "listen"


Only to remain in a cluster of memories.


I am the data

That has been lost

Behind the program named delete.

My mind is an unorganized

Arrangement of  fear,

Life, and death,

Haunted by a long past.


Pain, the child

Of  greed and power,

Rage, the child

Of neglect and control,

Emotions unharvested

By the mind,

Left alone to consume,

The concouisness

Which is left behind.


My name,

I've forgotten,

For it bears no significance.

My body, a corpse,

Undefined by reality,

Treads the path of insanity,

Where nothing exists,

but the darkness of the abyss.


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