but anytime i did, i moved to my right.
mine eyes become red, like a cloth dyed,
i embrace the dark in fear of the light.
guilt upon my conscience, burnt like the fries,
clothed in a regalia of plight.
a great doubt that i'll grace the skies,
sliding away is my fantasy of delight.
i swore to my betrothed that i shan't lie,
but i did, now shes but a memory, because she died...
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