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Scorn
Hell is my home
The pain a soft lullaby
The flames a gentle blanket
It is heaven that I fear
Can such a perfect place even exist?
The soft light is too harsh
The melodic harps ring with
dissonance throughout my head
What is happiness?
The peace after such chaos
is horrifying
I am made to withstand pain,
not live without it.
My heart is hardened to a point
that such softness would crack it.
My strength has defined me.
My weaknesses: are imperceptible.
And yet I fear such a place as heaven…
So this makes me a demon:
the hate of a thing so revered;
And for such a child-like admission
I am scorned.
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