A walking corpse filled with anguish and dread,
The sign of a soul that has too often been bled.
Why would his bright light simply burn out?
Possibly because he is damaged throughout.
Eyes once shined with the innocence of youth,
Now doused by the creeping melancholy of untruth.
Dark and twisted, the only facets of his character,
A battle to the finish where he is not the victor.
Everyday going through the same arduous motions,
Lacking steady faith or unmatched devotion.
He is but a shadow, a stigma on our society
Craving a full blown invasion of privacy.
Exist he does but on a whole other plane,
Stuck on this bleak level, bound by chain.
Creating a shadow but never to leave a mark,
Not on our lives but only in the dark.
by OBSIDIAN VISIONARY
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