What is that broken soul I see
off in the distance standing there?
It's burnt and bruised and strangely shaped
Her silhouette inflicts such fear.
"Hello!" I shout. It yells the same.
It never seems to break it's gaze.
And although I do not hear words,
That soul communicates.
And, oh, what pain that poor soul holds
what sorrow it contains.
What grotesque colors it's been stained
through choices and such foolish ways.
"Do you need help?" I ask the soul.
And she responds, with simply "no."
and so, unable to assist
I decide it's time to go.
I shift myself and turn away,
when I look back, she's done the same.
I sigh and mutter, "There's no hope."
"Such blindness is a shame."
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