And stalking,
No talking,
No tacking,
Just me bland,
And blank,
As black,
With lack of gags,
Bored and gored,
Tired and fired,
Hear not,
Fear not,
Of memories,
To the demise of the past,
Which premised so fast,
That the blight of light,
Was engulfed in flames,
By the arrival,
Of rivals,
It came so quick,
Without a single tick,
Turning myself,
Urning myself,
A ticket to experience,
The socket of the damned,
The condemned,
And the forgotten,
Plight in the light,
Is the flight away from the blight,
Just leaving,
And thieving,
Without any amends,
That mends,
The vending machine,
Leaving away laughter and insults,
Moving on to the test,
Like a vest with strands,
Standing there I was,
With the chalice of malice,
It feels like diced ice,
I flung it to the wall,
I have denied the call,
To remain in the light,
Without any hesitation,
There I make my move,
To the cold stove of darkness,
Leaving away happy doves,
There my heart starts to turn cold,
Old,
And moldy as stale bread,
That tasted like ale with tales,
But some resistance is fighting for others respect,
Preventing a suspect out of me,
Like a spec to bring in more light,
Like the ring of might,
Which is tight till the end,
Preventing me to fend on,
To darkness,
Well the battle continues,
Yet the tattles remain a stalemate,
Like a game of chess,
The battle continues with hassles,
And fusses.
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