Bad Poetry, Be Warned!
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Severe pain.

Severe depression.

Severe stress.

I do not need any of this, I don't, I don't!

What I need is to write.

To do something productive, yet... dark.

I know, I know, it sounds so damned melodramatic, but it's the flat truth - if I don't get a certain amount of that twisted, burning ache out of my mind, it's as if my entire universe gets thrown into shadow, darkened, dirty, ruined until I can find the right flame to burn it clean again.

What kind of flame? Sex, sometimes. Writing, often. My artwork, my poems. Occasionally even the right song or the sight of someone's tears... ok, usually the sight of someone else's tears given to me will cheer me up.

*sighs softly*

on the wind's wings she rises
stars in her eyes
the brilliance she clings to
is just a disguise
because inside she's faded
her colors now grey
and she flies ever higher
soaring far, far away
on a stormcould she dances
twisting to meet
the coldness and lightning
shooting up 'round her feet
despite all of her movements
and all of her grace
the moon that she envies
denies her a place
on the path marked by moonlight
she waits for the end
she's given up hoping
she's lost every friend
because inside she's empty
while outside she gleams
she gathers her strength
strives for her dreams

on a dark night she tumbles
letting life finally cease
it's not about death
only simple release

Sorry. Just a bit depressed right now.

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