Anna Martin-Hill
It’s the light That stupid bright light The purest one The most vibrant one That snow-like white
But as I reach to grasp its beauty It jumps back I hear its malicious laughter A shrill and deafening voice
But I touched it I swear I did! My head dove into its deep sea And the curse it laid upon me Leaving me many disguised demons
My only resolve To fix this curse To trap the light This world would be better off That white light deserved to die
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