Are you why my heart is in my hand, dripping blood to the floor? Still pulsing, still yearning to feel. Why scream when there is no one to hear you?
To feel anything at all, just to have a purpose. My body ripped open, still living, still knowing, yet soulless and isolated.
Searching for a spirit, for a life.
Let my end come.
Let my forlorn heart stop driving cold emptyness into my body.
Beating, pulsing, throbbing, pounding,
Thump in my hand, never ceasing.
To keep me alive forever in this state of hopelessness.
It is torture.
To seek a soul in an eternity of nothing, with no chance of the wish becoming true.
Are you my soul?
My life’s blood?
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