51 lines
1.8 KiB
Text
51 lines
1.8 KiB
Text
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airborne
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2022-01-01
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***
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before, in your grief, you decree
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"my life is over; there's no one left to be"
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just remember how there's a world only you can perceive
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stumbling through shattered nights as you pray
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for a world solely yours where you'll finally be safe
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and protected from coercion, christened Sablade
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but of hell, ceasing pains, perdition terrified
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"Mother, what will you do with my body when I die?
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I've failed, been rejected, inept at this living I've been assigned."
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reunited with your lover who swore to be your psychopomp
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when arrives the fateful end of the Eschaton
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you know intellectually that all should end alright
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but still lingers some doubt, some expectation of blight
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because all in your life has ended or will soon enough:
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summer camp disbanded, work holding no love
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despite the months poured in, the electronics that broke,
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the remnants of childhood insisting it's time to go
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and in six months, you'll finally from college graduate
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having slipped by without a single accusation of hate
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"Can you believe it? The worst is over. The end is near.
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You'll make it out alive. Have faith in yourself, my dear."
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you step back and consider the terrifying odds:
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the only one in the heavens that wants a world without gods
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is the girl you exchanged a part of your soul
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with in Rainroom, an Outside away and a whole life ago
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but to give her that world could mean Mori's bliss
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and what's the point of it all if you can't also live
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in the world you've created, that you swore on your life
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you'd live together with her until the cessation of time?
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dear child, you remembered your wings and recalled how to fly
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but you're being chased to a cliff and the edge looms nearby:
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will you prostate yourself and live in self-scorn?
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or jump off the edge and trust you'll become airborne?
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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