Incandescence eats me from the inside, illuminating my innards like glow worms gliding through the twilight on a winters eve, framing the vista.
The bleak atmosphere doesn’t decay my soul, for as the warmth keeps me alive.
My conscience being clouded by dimness, gloom gnaws inward.
For I will not concede, euphoria will always warp my perception.
These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey.
William Shakespeare
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