When a promise is made but those words vanish in the embers, your cries echo from the deceit.

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Oh deep, dark depression,

my uninvited guest,

the persistence of oppression

is precluding my life’s zest.

The dark before sunrise

of a dawn that just won't break,

suppressed by a thirst for my soul

that only sorrow can now slake.

The wisps that you are weaving

are clouding my damp eyes,

a cold and cloying shroud

that’s covering all that I desire.

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