Chains

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By: Spencer DiSparti

What predestined hell is this?

Are we all born from the fruit of Eve,

Accursed children of original sin,

Bound to tread the same ill-favored path?

My liver bleeds like that of a Titan;

Torn from my flesh by vulturous hands,

Chained to the same desolate crag;

The iron digs into my bones

And I sing to the numbing pleasure of pain.

A moribund soul drifting

Down a shore of bloated corpses;

Shedding one infernal skin after another.

Hell is not knowing you are already there

Forever bound to the chains you cannot see.

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