Whispered in a cruel shade of blue,

Where “love” lives in the soul of a fool

Who’s blind, and bland,

With a soul of gray pudding

You cannot know or feel

The depths of their suffering

For each time they appeared,

They cast their net to ensnare others

Failing more often than not,

And unable to hold onto the very thing

They desire to become.

How they doom themselves

Each time they tried to dye their soul

To shades so bright and lively,

To match those of their prey,

Only to return to a shade of slate

When their feet faced the fire.


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