Remanence

I didn’t choose this.

I am broken, huh?

Fate’s trashed what’s left of this…

spoiled my remanence.

Cursed, mortal drama.

Neither a resemblance,

Of patchwork done by those oh so ignorant.

A figment, one outdone by belittlement.

A garnet, buried- never harnessed.

Or blessed. Or possessed.

That last word leaves me so obsessed;

For, if one leaves themselves to themselves,

What is the purpose of asking for help?

 

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