The candle flickered, isolated
Surrounded by winter's heart
Walls so worn, soulless
Shadows light the room
Heartbeats, a heart used to beat
No more
Faceless are the portraits
Memories haunt the barren halls
Like a spectre, an echo
Of a life that lived
Tattered stairs
A broken dream
With every step he bleeds
drenched, a carpet of crimson exonerates his agony
Freed from thought
Fleeing from his mind
A dust-covered mirror
A face,
Much like mine.
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