• I look deep within to search for a light therein
    The more I seek the closer I come to peek upon the emptiness inside
    A person without a heart is all I find naught light nor the unloving dark.
    To be made of twilight is my blight.
    And yet, with no emotion I can hold no fear, without a heart: How can anything be dear?
    If I could only so much as feel I would finally become real.
    Is this truly desperation? Or am I feeling on a reflection of a past sensation?


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