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When you lay surrounded by suicidal insights.
Is when your instincts are loud but you are deaf to their sound.
Chanting the curse of an inhuman disease, you find my corpse with a prayer to please.
Terrorizing your thoughts with moments you’ve foreseen.
I grant you a whisper, for a picture to redeem.
A picture I could see, in the moments of demise.
I could only see your face, when fate closed my eyes.
When you find me in ashes, do touch them if you feel.
I will find my solace in your tears when you kneel.