No more tears
for the wicked
know not
how to cry.
Their faces
wrapped in
mischief, taunt
and glare.
While their
souls weep
inside as they
are crushed.
Washed down
with a bottle
or two.
We cease
to exist as
Finally beasts
take over and
all is ecstasy and
short-lived bliss.
Eaten by guilt
in flames.

char, 2023

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