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The beauty as it flickers,
the damage and the pain,
a light for reasoned sources,
the warmth from cold dark rain.

The flame of brightest orange,
burns my wounded heart;
the flame of deepest blue
boils my soul apart.

I love the pain it gives me,
I crumble and I hide.
I rise up from the ashes,
my burning is my guide.

n = 2,267; July 17, 2017


I'm not sure it came out as optimistic as I wanted it to be.

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