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To Elysium
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Nerve Bending
['Hope in reality is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man.' - F. Nietzsche]
A slow aching, bled dry of pain. The pace of life sedates the sane.
Lure me into the fury of absence, let my train of thoughts collide. In a trance of confidence, stirring up, I breathe cyanide.
Drawn in my horns, a stabwound slow-dance. Holding on to a dog's fair chance. A slow aching, bled dry of pain. The pace of life sedates the sane.
I myself, I am a cold element, but I contain a living flame.
Fading in, fading out, last visit for a long time. While a legend lingers, we pine away, into clime.
The wish is father to the thought, the thought is father to the truth. Ignite the imagination and take it far away.
I grieve over things that end, nothing in line to succeed them. They become a part of the horrors I hold in my heart.
Neatly pealed all layers off, searching a stain to expose, lay bare imperfection, grow aversion, then dispose.
Now your self is bare, in an instant flare, if you have tears, cry elsewhere.
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