ssenkrad eht stcelferMature

I fear I am becoming a doomsday poet;
a prophetess with eyes for negativity.
Daily, the porcelain shells of dreams of lives
long- and well-lived crunch beneath my feet
with every halted step of mine that falls.
I did not ask for eyes to see what is remiss
in the world. I fear my muddled literary offerings
reflect the darkness|ssenkrad eht stcelfer
like a prophet-scented candle in a tinted mirror.
My eyes alight upon suffering souls who hold
their grisly guts in place with their bare hands
as dark blood fills the gaps inside my keyboard.
I write of Doomsday as it draweth nigh,
with hellish stormclouds lapping at the sky.

The End

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