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Dark corners of being
House the murderous guilt;
Murderous, let’s call it
For there’s blood I see spilt
– Oozing out slow,
Staining the pristine.
A blot of shame
On unholy and unclean.
A moment not so glorious,
A tread not so right
Call the killer quietly,
Away from the spotlight.
I dare call it poisonous
For poison it slips
In the cup of serenity
Touching thy lips.
A ghost of conscience
Haunting the hollow,
Preying on thy soul
There’s peace to swallow.
The mind cries foul
And throat chokes within
When the beast of guilt
Flashes thy sin.