he lay there in the middle of nowhere...
in the emptiness of the crowd...
in the silence of the screams,
and in the realm of garish dreams...
he lay there nude, amidst the dead,
as the angels of mercy sang out loud...
his face contorted in a grimace of pain,
alive he lay in the shelter of the rain...
a phoenix he was not...
so he rose from the mud...
only to succumb again;
and to laugh, and to feign...
he ran, but there was naught to gain,
only an illusion bathed in blood...
he ran till he reached the edge of his hell;
and shed his tears for the spirits, sane.
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