Abyssal Longing

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It beckons so sweetly from the darkest of chasms,

the seductive whispering of sadistic phantasms.

On bleak nights when the dying stir,

we find ourselves longing for the abyss.

Demented gifts woefully confer,

to fix the flaws of those that were judged amiss.

Abyssal longing,

inspiring by a morbid sense of belonging.

On the coldest of winter nights,

we drink from the bloody river of black magic.

Velvet darkness encapsulates our sights,

longing to perfect our neglected havoc.

In the coddlings of light we are sardonically rejected,

in the embrace of darkness we are delightfully accepted.

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