Degradation of our lives of solitude

such a pretty scarring

the one that makes me heal

I feel so real in this dream

above the drone of incessant heat

the flames that used to speak to me

that bound me in chains of pity

that suffocate me with self deceit

a martyr dies without a self

this I realized before the swoon

and none to soon

I could have drowned in the blood of hatred

instead I struggled free

the strength to succeed emanating from more than me

away from the heat into warmth and purity

I destroyed that well of lonely selflessness

now left with something akin to my real and true disease

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