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The Halfling


He stalks along the mystic bends of what life often lends to those who walk alone.
Time swallows what's left of hollows that pain seems to condone.
The darkened eyes of death and of stale iced breath of corpses that live within.
He is the emptiness felt at night when the light hides from the sin.
It's not his fault that he was caught up in its miseries.
He is a victim of a system of tragic victories.
He's given up on life’s dreams and of truly faded schemes for a bottle and a distant stare.
He doesn't trust his heart, wouldn’t know where to start, and doesn't even seem to care.
He lost his way one un-recount-able day awaiting impending doom.
One crimson tear shows his only fear on his journey to meet his tomb.


























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