As it's wick slowly burns down to the core.
I wish to write away my sorrows.
But the more I write the less it means.
Photosynthesising minds sucking up energy.
Leading me to beleive she will bring my mouth words.
But every time I speak I find the value decrease.
My Princess, will you be my temporary influence?
Love is burning down to the ground.
Death is imperative in our genetic code.
Like a muse attempting to do good.
Inspiration is only temporary.
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