Longing For A PurposeMature

Chess pieces on a board being moved by some higher, evil forces,

Waiting to die,

Longing for a purpose,

But never recieving one,

Just letting everyday life's poison,

Be dripped into our blackening veins,

Always content with the same,

Minds close like wounds,

Closed to individuality,

And everything else in this dying world,

This world that is hardening and drying out like a scab,

We are dying day by day,

Lie awake, beaten, only death will bring sleep,

Agonised eyes so blank and staring,

Pointed, bruised faces,

Clawed apart, mutilated,

I'm ready to die.

The End

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