Burning with a furious heat,
The low spirit watches
As the papery world is engulfed.
Echoes of flame,
Dance in the eye of the night,
Leaving one to ponder
Where the real betrayals lie,
Or if they lie at all.
Two separate paths
Which merged and became one.
Then traveling down some more.
Tear stained eyes
Are fixed on the dirt floor.
The low spirit writhes
From self-inflicted torment,
Rocking and swaying,
Sobbing and pacing,
While thinking of crossing the street.
But there’s nothing on the other side,
So the spirit goes down the road instead,
And dreams the warm dream of death.
But death hath hovered.
Death hath lied.
Death hath been here this whole time.
The low spirit was never alive,
And, as such, can never die.
Forever in this state of unrest.
The sadness evolves into misery;
The misery evolves into suffering.
And it was said,
That unto this great depression
A light shall shine
To blind thy enemies
And heal thy wounds.
Upon thy honour it shall be so.
Thus spake the lone entity
Lies, detestable lies.
Cries, sickening cries
Bellowing from the soul of the low spirit.
O, the forsaken shall walk the earth
Plodding through swampy wretchedness,
In, By, From this life,
Forever to suffer for no comprehensible reason.
Cast your sharpened stones downward,
Waste not, care not,
Save not the low spirit
With all its sadness and contempt.
For what lies at the bottom
Of its maniacal depths
Is a hurt thou must never meet.
A ravenous monster of defeat.
The low spirit is tormented silently and alone,
Because people shy from such a shadow.
Given the opportunity,
The low spirit would engulf your papery world
While echoes of flame,
Dance in thy eye.
Not because of want,
But because of need,
An unquenchable thirst to be free.
From the beginning of time,
Until the end of time,
The low spirit shall crawl onward,
Planting its seeds of sorrow,
Eagerly praying for no tomorrow.
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