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I know not what the future holds, I know not what to write
But every single time I hold this pen, I feel peace beyond comprehension
My soul in utter dispare is the one true fact I know for sure
Loneliness has become,sharp pointy thorn in my flesh.

Love has become an utter object of hatred.
It has sipped the very source of life from me
All I have left is the emotionally morbid skeleton,
Striving for every single breath it takes.

My facade is slowly wearing off,
Hope is dimming and falling deeper in the pit of rejection
I lost hope in myself, seasons ago, all I need is to rest,rest
and never wake forever

All hope in a savior is rapidly declining,
I know not what the future holds, but what I know is I have no strength to find out.



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The following comments are for "Desert Of Uncertainity"
by Henriamaa





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