Torn between an unsound mind storming off to a painting's hall | Every Day Poems
Torn between an unsound mind storming off to a painting's hall and etching whit of massacre atop the hall that was as old as the hills. It ached as if I was stifled by the fumes and choked by the wisp of smoke in the rain, but I hindered the smear of solmen flood and lit it into a flame. It burned and browned my grey skin, dimming the lifelessness of my cold soul.
Doomed to proclaim a verdict on myself, I must have been a cursed witch in my past life, must have done horrible deeds unknown to me. I must have blown out the warmth of thousands to quench my dark desires. I must have been unforgivable she-devil to the sheep.
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