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Being all at once everything to everyone and taking their lead, following their footsteps, being pushed and pulled and battered along the journey. And her heart it still sings, still stings, still…
Not weak. Been strong for too long. Keep telling yourself that as the crimson night comes before your eyes, that moment before the darkness that you dream about, that you almost crave. It makes you sick to your stomach, yet you desire that weakness.
Everything in imagery of death and destruction and pain and suffering and torture and bleeding from a thousand scars. The disease eats away at your mind, chews through all the good and leaves only the evil, the mindless, the thoughlessness of human nature.
And yet, you know that there is beauty all around. You lose yourself in those moments, you lose your head and your heart in glorious days. And the night and the blood-red shadow looms. Wouldn’t it be easier? Can’t you just…?
She’ll never give up, even if it means tearing herself to bits. Because she deserves the good and she deserves the bad. She deserves life.
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