Illusion (day 1438)

Whispers cease to fill the rounds
Your eyes become my cast-off stones
Black serpents are what thoughts become
I have spent my last reason

Tear apart fickle justifications
That purify all your moves
Lasting memories are all I save
Inward voices: my own Hades.

Dance your heart around our fire
Widows weaving, nevermore
I am undone amidst this body
I am not alone in my illusion

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